


In Flight As In Love

by kungfunurse



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Telepathy, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-19
Updated: 2012-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-31 10:56:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kungfunurse/pseuds/kungfunurse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lightning storm rages across the skies of Metropolis, splitting the fabric between realities. Several of the city's citizens go missing, and Superman calls his longtime ally, Batman, to help him investigate. This is the start of an adventure between dimensions for the two heroes that is unlike anything they've ever experienced. Cursed by their enemies, Clark is transformed into a dragon with no knowledge of how to reclaim his true form.  As they struggle to come to terms with the curse, the two travel across a magical land, battling armies of the undead, searching for the lost citizens and for a way to change Clark back. Searching, most importantly, for a way to return home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Flight As In Love

**Author's Note:**

> In the original version of this story there was a much more... explicit sex scene. But due to some very wise beta advice, I decided it didn't belong in that story. HOWEVER, I loved it so much that I decided to post it as a [deleted scene](http://archiveofourown.org/works/346664). Hopefully there are those out there who'll like it, too. If so, please hit the kudos button to let me know!
> 
> [Dragontails](http://archiveofourown.org/works/346664)

More than anything else the sensation is one of perfect peace mingled with an excitement that strains every nerve to the utmost, if you can conceive of such a combination. ~Wilbur Wright

***

The storm raged uncontrollably in the night sky above Metropolis. Blue-white electricity split the air and illuminated a swirling vortex from within the clouds. All over the city people were huddled in their homes, staring from their windows at the terrifying display above them.

A young couple pulled up to their building, stumbled out of the cab, and raced for their front door. The explosion as the lightning struck them deafened the cab driver for hours afterwards. There were no bodies.

Across town, a group of college kids were out dancing in an empty football field. They were drunk on vodka and their own daring, shouting and laughing over the booming cracks of lightning. One of them held his bottle high in the air to toast the spectacle above them. The lightning struck him first, then split from his chest, in forks, to strike the others.

Seconds later, the security cameras showed a deserted field.

*_*_*

Bruce Wayne, prince of Gotham, scourge of the night, protector of the weak, and jealous fist of justice in his city, scowled as he fastened the cuff-links on his tux. Tonight's charity gala was the third this month and by now he'd run out of excuses not to attend. 

"Perhaps we could manufacture an ailing relative," Alfred offered, as he watched from the sidelines. "A spinster aunt. Locked in the attic all these years."

"Very funny," Bruce fumed. "There are at least twenty distinct cases I could be working. Two of them involve kidnapping and extortion. Putting on this song and dance is a waste of time."

"And unfortunately, entirely necessary," Alfred said, helping him into his overcoat. "You cannot evade your social responsibilities entirely, not without drawing the very sort of attention you're trying to prevent. Now then, here's your umbrella, Master Bruce."

"It's just a little rain, Alfred. I'll hardly melt."

"Forgive me, sir, but I would describe it as more of a deluge. And, who knows? Perhaps you may offer it to some charming young lady in need of assistance. Heaven forbid you find a reason to enjoy yourself."

"We're not getting into this, again," Bruce warned. "I don't have time to spend mooning after some rich, empty-headed socialite. I'm not interested in starting a family and I certainly don't need the distractions." He turned to leave, his long coat swirling after him.

"Master Bruce," Alfred said. The quiet tones arrested Bruce mid-step. "While I remain, as ever, your devoted servant, I shan't always be here, you know. I worry that I'll be leaving you alone in this world when I leave it." Bruce stood facing away from Alfred, his head bowed and his back stiff. "It would truly ease my heart if I knew you had a companion of some kind. Oh, not one of those vapid young women you parade in front of the cameras, but a help-meet. Someone with whom you could share your work. Perhaps even someone strong enough to bring a little joy into your life." 

"Alfred, what are you saying?" Bruce choked on the words, harsh as sand in his throat.

"Rest assured, sir, I have no plans to leave you any time in the immediate future." Alfred smiled and walked up behind Bruce to lay a hand on his shoulder. Bruce heaved a silent breath. "However, I would take it as a kindness if you'd bring your umbrella. You have a most... disagreeable disposition when you catch cold."

Bruce felt a smile tug at his lips. "Fine. I'll take the blasted thing." He looked over his shoulder at his oldest friend; in many ways, the father of his adult life. He knew Alfred could read his face, better than anyone alive, and he wondered what he was seeing now that made him look so proud and so sad all at once.

"I understand there are websites where one can-"

"Absolutely not," Bruce cut him off, determined to escape. "I'm not going online to find a date!"

"You certainly won't find one simply hanging about the Manor," Alfred rejoined, as he opened the door onto the downpour outside.

Bruce looked out the door and up, and up, to see red boots, the swell of thick, muscular thighs, a strong, broad chest, and a pair of deep blue eyes set in a gorgeous, if sopping wet, face.

"Bruce," Clark said. His hair was soaked in the rain and his full mouth was set in serious lines. "Something's happening in Metropolis. I need your help."

"Well, it's not a spinster aunt in the attic," Bruce said, winging one eyebrow up.

"Indeed," Alfred replied. "If you'll excuse me, I shall see about making your excuses. Again."

"Did I miss something?" Clark asked. Bruce stood to one side and gestured for the sopping wet Superman to land in the foyer. 

"Nothing important." Bruce shook his head, shed his overcoat and grabbed towels from a cabinet in the entryway. "Here, dry yourself off. I'll get changed and you can bring me up to speed."

He watched from the corner of his eye as Clark scrubbed his face and hair with the towel, then dragged it across his chest and stomach. The suit wasn't exactly modest to begin with. Something about the piezoelectric field close to Clark's skin and how it was supposed to provide protection to his clothing. Personally, the number of times he'd seen Clark half-naked after a fight made him wonder how true that could be. And now, drenched to his sun-kissed, perfect skin, the suit clung to his body like tissue paper.

"I'll be downstairs," Bruce gestured a bit awkwardly, "ahm, suiting up." He rubbed his mouth, and then tugged off the blasted bow tie. He felt the flush bloom up his chest, up to his face, and knew his eyes were dilated. 

"I'll follow you down," Clark said, now rubbing the towel over his thighs. 

"No just... stay there," Bruce said, backing away toward the grandfather clock that hid the entrance to the Batcave. "You wouldn't want to drip on anything. I'll, ah, be right back."

Clark looked at him oddly. Bruce spun and dashed for the Cave entrance. _Strategic retreat, strategic retreat,_ he reminded himself, all the while hearing Alfred's voice nag him in the back of his mind.

Being around Clark made Bruce feel like a starving man denied a feast. The man was warm, funny, gorgeous, brilliant, and, as far as Bruce could tell, straight. At least, he'd never heard of Clark dating a man. Not unless you included those rumors about Lex Luthor, and Bruce knew better than to give any credence to that. Clark had come to him years ago to lay out his past with Luthor, "in case you need to know for strategic reasons."

When they'd first met, Bruce had gone out of his way to be as cold as possible in an attempt to drive Clark away. He knew his own force of personality, knew he could tumble most anyone, straight or not, into bed for at least a night. But Clark sparked the most irrational, frustrating longings in him, and he'd be damned if he'd allow himself to pine after Superman like some addled teen. 

The years wore on, though, and the two of them found themselves relying more on each other, both in battle and out. The same night Clark revealed his history with Luthor, he'd handed Bruce a small lead box with a glowing green stone inside. "I'm too powerful not to have some checks on me. If I ever go bad, I need to know that someone can stop me. I want it to be you. You're the only one I trust to do it."

That night, Bruce's last wall had crumbled. The truth was that no matter how hard he fought, Clark was stronger; he was already inside Bruce's walls and under his skin. With that supreme act of courage, Clark had become a friend.

Just a friend, he reminded his throbbing groin. Sometimes Bruce caught himself wondering... but no. It was just wishful thinking that Clark could be flirting with him. Like that business with the towel, upstairs. He had to keep these thoughts in check. They were fantasy, nothing more.

It didn't help that Clark seemed to have no concept of personal space. He was forever _touching_ him. He'd often lean his shoulder against Bruce's when he wanted to show him something. He'd reach out and brush Bruce's arm to get his attention at League meetings. 

When they were alone he'd occasionally rest his hand on Bruce's back as they talked, his thumb stroking in circles. And he kept touching Bruce's hands. They were a major erogenous zone, always had been, and every teasing, innocent touch made him shiver with suppressed desire.

With every touch, Bruce felt the want in his belly grow a little hotter. He was afraid the time might come when it would grow too insistent, that he'd do something to drive away those maddening touches. He'd come to realize that as much as he dreaded them, he'd do anything to keep them coming.

"Bruce, are you ready?" Clark's voice echoed down the stairs and into the main cavern.

"I told you to wait upstairs!" Bruce snapped. He wasn't quite into the Batsuit. It always took longer to manage alone.

"Relax, I promise not to drip anywhere important. Besides, I don't know how much time we have."

"Time for what?" Bruce asked, struggling to reach a buckle at his back.

"Here, let me help," Clark said. His hands were inhumanly warm as they tangled with Bruce's. Bruce felt an electric surge from his fingers to his groin. He swallowed a moan, and couldn't stop himself from stealing another taste. He brushed the tips of his fingers against Clark's palm, sparking a second rush of pleasure. God. "The mission?" he asked, trying to pretend his voice hadn't come out low and husky.

"Atmospheric disturbance over Metropolis," Clark said. He was still working the clasp at Bruce's back, his mouth tantalizingly close to Bruce's ear. "I have reports of eight people getting zapped by lightning and then disappearing. I think it's some sort of dimensional rift."

"Then you should be consulting a magic user, or a scientist," Bruce said, turning to face him. Clark hadn't stepped back and they were bare inches apart. He could feel Clark's breath on his face. "Anyone but me."

"I've already called them into play to contain the storm. But I also have missing people to find," Clark said. His eyes looked wonderfully alien in the dim light as they searched Bruce's face. "For that, I need a detective. You."

"Indeed," Bruce murmured, staring at Clark's full, kissable mouth. He swayed ever so slightly forward, caught in Clark's gravity.

"I do, most sincerely, apologize," Alfred interrupted from behind. Bruce cleared his throat and turned, and from the periphery he saw Clark straighten and rub at his lips.

"The news is reporting the disturbances in Metropolis, sir. I've taken the liberty of putting a few things together for you. Again, my deepest apologies for interrupting... "

"It's nothing, Alfred," Bruce said, as he waved a hand and accepted the loaded pack. "Rations, field gear, the usual?"

"Of course, Master Bruce," Alfred replied with a touch of asperity. "After all this time, I hope I know my job."

"Thank you, Alfred," Clark said, smiling behind his hand.

"You're most welcome, Master Clark. And I expect to see you here for a proper visit, once tonight's business is concluded."

"Yes, sir," Clark mumbled, head down and still smiling.

"Ahem," Bruce said, giving Alfred a look. "Time we were gone, I think."

"Right," Clark agreed. "I know it's raining, but it'll be faster if I fly us both. I promise to fly above the clouds. At least until we reach Metropolis."

Bruce closed his eyes, resigned to being held tightly against Clark's wet body. At least the rain would keep things cooled down. He hoped.

*_*_*

Bruce stared up into the belly of the storm, refusing to flinch from its immensity. Clark had brought them to the _Planet's_ rooftop to survey the phenomena before heading in. It engulfed the entire sky. The swirling vortex was lit from within by an unearthly light that seemed to pulse and breath like a living thing. Wind whipped around them with gale force, stealing their words and tugging madly on their capes. Lightning crackled in deafening roars, occasionally bouncing off a shield held by the magic-users on the ground. 

"What, exactly, was your plan?" Bruce shouted over the storm.

"It pretty much consisted of flying us into the dimensional tear, then making it up as we went!" Clark shouted back.

"And the rift?"

"Zatanna, Klarion, Dr Fate, and Manitou Raven will close it after we're through!"

"Perfect!" Bruce said, the sarcasm heavy in his voice. "And what was your plan to get us back?"

Clark just raised his eyebrows, and Bruce sighed. Of course. "Your faith in me is touching, but even I might have trouble outsmarting that!" He pointed at the swirling maw above them.

"I'm kidding!" Clark grinned. "I tried to get one of our magi to come along, but they say there's something unusual about the energies that form the rift. Apparently, it's operating on different magical laws from ours. They tell me they can't get much closer without becoming disoriented. None of them wanted to see what would happen if they actually went through it!"

"You still haven't answered my question!" Bruce pointed out. Perfect, a magical threat, and a bunch of magic users refusing to battle it. 

"Dr Fate and Zatanna gave me this!" Clark shouted, showing Bruce a glowing disc inscribed with runes. "When we're ready to come home, we activate it, and it opens a portal at our location!"

"If it operates on completely different magical laws, will it still work over there?" Bruce asked. Why was he the only one who saw the flaws in this plan?

"Probably!" Clark shrugged, tucking the stone disc back into his boot. "That's what my experts tell me!"

"This is a terrible plan!" Bruce yelled.

"Does that mean you're not coming?" Clark asked, shouldering Bruce's pack.

"Of course not. Just remember, I told you so!" Bruce stepped into Clark's arms, and even the vortex couldn't distract him from his body's eager response. Damn it. Clark radiated heat like a furnace as he folded his impossibly strong arms around Bruce, and Bruce rested his head on Clark's shoulder. To minimize wind shear, of course. He turned his face into the crook of Clark's neck, breathing in the warm sunshine and ozone scent of him. Clark gripped him tightly and lifted them off, flying directly into the rift's center.

"Don't let go of me!" Clark shouted, his words all but lost in the cacophony.

"Not if I can help it," Bruce muttered, for once confident that Clark wouldn't hear.

The rift engulfed them. Bruce felt the energies slide between the very molecules of his body, his sense of self mutable and shifting wildly. Reality ceased to mean anything. Was he breathing? Screaming? Were his eyes open or did the things that tore at his sanity bloom inside his skull? He tried to grip Clark but he couldn't find his hands. Did he still have a body? Had he ever?

Bruce was only certain of being surrounded by a presence. It was both comforting and exhilarating, simultaneously wild and playfully warm, and he clung to it with every ounce of will he'd honed as Batman. He used it to build a tiny wall around his sanity, shoring up the reaches of his mind against the impossible non-being he was drowning in.

They burst through the far side, air and gravity slamming his being back together. It was like dying and being born again while caught in a ten-megaton explosion, all at once. They spun wildly out of control, falling to the green thing beneath them. _Earth, grass._

A word formed in his mouth, and Bruce shouted it, surprised by the sound even as his mind remembered its meaning.

"Clark!"

The warm, sunshine-and-lightning-smelling man _Clark, Safety, Hold on,_ lifted his head and held him tighter, doing something to slow their descent.

They hit the ground with a thump, Clark on the bottom to cushion the fall. Bruce scrambled off him, re-learning his arms and legs as he leaned to the side and retched.

"That was horrifyingly awful," Bruce said eventually. He wondered if he was going to heave again.

"Gnngh," Clark grunted through clenched teeth, rolling over to his hands and knees. His head was down and he looked pretty bad, too. If even Superman was having vertigo then Bruce decided to forgive his own body for failing him.

"Talk to me, Clark," Bruce said, mostly to take his attention from his still resettling body. _Heartbeat shaking his chest, lungs filling and emptying, millions of cells flowing and moving and-_ "Clark!"

"I think your ear poked me in my eye."

Bruce pressed his lips together, trying to keep the shaking feeling down in his chest. It rose up, irrepressible, and he collapsed in helpless laughter, his arms and legs weak as water.

Clark started laughing too and they both lay in heaps on the green grass, laughing so they wouldn't scream at the horror they'd just survived.

Eventually, Bruce managed to sit up and take stock. The first thing he noted was the yellow sun. Clark's needs would be seen to. Excellent. Green, rolling hills, blue sky, mild temperature. No animal life in sight, no immediate threats.

He crawled over to where Clark was recovering and rolled him off the pack. "Good job holding on to this," he muttered, his fingers recalling where and how to check the contents.

"Didn't even remember it," Clark said, staring up at the sun. "Only thought was to hold on to you. Nothing else even registered. Rao, that was awful."

"Agreed. When we trigger the rune, I expect the portal home to go more smoothly."

"I'll get right on that," Clark drawled, finally sitting up and looking around. "Um, I think we have a problem."

Bruce tensed, looking for the threat. "What do you see?"

"It's what I don't see. No footprints or tracks. No sign that anyone else has been here recently."

Bruce shot Clark a look. "The others didn't come through the rift here."

"Don't think so," Clark said. "Maybe going straight into the rift, instead of being struck by lightning, changed something?"

"Or maybe, none of them ended up in the same place, and we'll have to hunt all eight of them down, one by one."

"I can always count on you to see the up-side," Clark grumbled, swaying as he stood. Bruce still didn't trust his legs enough to try that. He glared at Clark for showing off.

Clark just grinned down at him and held out a hand. Scowling, Bruce grabbed his wrist. He expected to be tugged to his feet, quick and business-like. Instead he was pulled slowly, up and in, his inner-ear easily rebalancing with the movement. He came to rest with his feet under him and his free hand against Clark's chest. For balance.

His black-gloved hand seemed oddly fascinating against the red and blue of Clark's suit. He rubbed his thumb experimentally across the fabric. Clark gasped.

"Bruce?" Clark cleared his throat, tilting his head down to catch Bruce's eyes.

"I think the oxygen content might be off," Bruce said, blinking for focus. That, or the vortex had truly scrambled his brains.

"No, everything looks and smells fine," Clark replied, using his own extraordinary senses to examine their surroundings. "I think you just need a minute."

"I'm fine," he insisted, pulling his wrist free and stepping back. He swayed but waved Clark off, managing his balance after a step. 

"Alright, just let me know when you're ready for an aerial view."

"Why don't you go?" He didn't feel very keen, at all, about going back up, now that he was firmly down. "I need to get used to this place and the gravity feels slightly heavier."

"True," Clark agreed. "The whole planet is huge. I'd say at least four times the size of Earth, based on the curvature of the horizon. About Neptune's size, maybe. Wait here, I'll be back soon."

Clark lifted upward. The air cradled his body as though welcoming his return. Bruce looked away. It was ridiculous to yearn for something he could never have. It didn't matter that everyone dreamed of flight; he didn't have time for whimsy. The fact that most of his flying dreams involved Clark was also irrelevant. It just emphasized how unattainable those dreams were.

He shook his head and began a kata to familiarize his body with the new forces pulling on it.

*_*_*

It was only a few minutes later that Clark returned to report a settlement in the distance. Bruce had acclimated to the increased gravity quickly - approximately 1.14 of Earth-normal, very like Neptune indeed.

Bruce grabbed his pack and unhooked a device from the front pocket. "The rift was giving off a unique energy signature, so I took some readings while we were up on the _Planet's_ roof. Using this I should be able to track our missing persons based on the minute amount of rift particles they'll be shedding."

Clark leaned close, a hand at Bruce's back, and looked over his shoulder. "It's a Geiger counter," he said, his warm breath whispering across Bruce's cheek.

"No, this is vastly superior." He stepped away to keep himself from leaning into that teasing warmth. "I created it myself. It's a cross between a Scintillation counter and a gas flow proportional counter. It takes elements from both but is massively more sensitive. Plus, it analyzes and stores specific energy signatures. Now stand still, I'm going to scan each of us to register our own radiologic output so we don't throw the readings off."

Clark held his arms out to either side and smirked at Bruce. Bruce winged an eyebrow up, but he couldn't think of a reason to object and stepped in close to run the device over Clark's body. "It's a Geiger counter," Clark whispered. He turned his face, his lips almost brushing Bruce's. 

"Hold still," Bruce husked. Was he imagining the heat in Clark's voice? "And, yes. As much as the Batmobile is like that tin can you drive, yes, it's a Geiger counter. Now turn around." Clark smirked and turned obediently. Bruce refused to admire the firm, rounded view of his ass while he finished his readings.

They began flying in a direction Clark insisted was west, based on the magnetic poles he felt in the planet. Bruce occasionally checked the 'counter, but no trace of the rift's signature appeared.

"We're almost to the city I spotted earlier," Clark said after a few minutes.

Bruce glanced up and saw glass spires resolving into view. "I don't think we'll find our missing persons there," he shook his head, inputting a variable equation into the 'counter.

"Well, we're coming up on it now and it looks like they're expecting us. Should we abort?"

Bruce frowned. "No, not yet. But based on the low levels of ambient radiation, I wasn't expecting any sort of tech in the area. How do they even know we're coming?"

"Magic," Clark grimaced. "I can feel it under my skin." Bruce knew that of the few things Superman was vulnerable to, only Kryptonite made him feel more defenseless.

The city was a collection of tall, glassy spires and squat buildings. There was a keep in the center with outlying farms ringing it. "If they know we're coming, there's no use trying for a quiet entrance," Bruce decided. He tucked away the 'counter to get ready for action.

"Agreed. Up on that tower there's a group of men and women looking in our direction. Guess we should go be neighborly."

Closer, Bruce could see what Clark meant. Six people, four men and two women, were standing around a huge, pulsating crystal. They were each holding a long metal staff and their faces were grim.

"Does that seem like trouble to you?" Clark asked, drifting slowly down to the group. "We don't have to do this. You said the missing people probably aren't here."

"We need intel about this world. Badly," Bruce whispered. "If we can get them talking it could save us a great deal of trouble down the road."

"I'm not sure about this..." Clark hesitated.

"I am. Set us down."

"How dare you come so brazenly among us!" one of the men shouted, brandishing his metal staff.

"Well, at least we can understand each other," Clark muttered.

"Quiet," Bruce whispered. "Put me down."

"We apologize for disturbing you," Clark said, putting Bruce on his feet and holding his hands peaceably out in front of him. "We're strangers to your world and-"

"Enough of your words!" the old woman to their left spat. "You steal our magic, then flaunt it openly to our faces? You think we will stand for this?"

"Our crops are dying," a small, wizened man said, shaking his staff. "You steal the food from our children's mouths and use our magic to fly like a god."

"No," Clark denied, stepping forward, his hands outstretched. "I'd never do that. There was a storm in my world and we came here searching for our lost people-"

"Lies!" another shouted, and the crystal in the middle pulsed ominously.

"Superman," Bruce warned, slowly backing to the edge of the tower. Clark never knew when to give up on people. It was both his greatest strength and his most appalling weakness. "I think it's time-"

"You'll show your true selves, you demons from the pit!" the first man cried, and all six leveled their staffs at them. "Once you've been robbed of your borrowed shapes, you'll be forced back to the Great Beyond!"

"Superman, now!" Bruce barked as unearthly light spewed from the staffs. Thought-quick, Clark threw himself between Bruce and the magic-users, using his body to shield him. The magic fumed and curled around Clark, expanded suddenly, and, just as quickly, contracted into his body.

Clark stumbled, turned it into a dive, and grabbed Bruce around the middle as he flew them away from the city.

Bruce was gasping for breath. Clark had knocked him squarely in the solar plexus and was even now racing at speeds that made his human lungs fight for air. The city was already out of sight and Bruce estimated that over a hundred miles had ripped by. "Slow down," he choked, grabbing a handful of Clark's hair and pulling hard.

Clark seemed dazed but he slowed, then stopped to hover mid-air. "What did they do to you?" Bruce demanded, gasping for air. He put his thumbs on Clark's cheeks to raise his face. The pupils were hugely dilated.

"Don't know," Clark said, frowning. "I feel odd."

Bruce grimaced. "Mind-controlled odd, or some other kind of odd?"

Clark stared blankly at Bruce, blinked, then the bottom dropped out of the world. "Clark!" Bruce shouted, and Clark slowed their descent in fits and starts.

"The air feels wrong," Clark said. "What's wrong with the air?"

"Figure it out on the ground!" he snapped, and seconds later they collapsed back to the earth. "I'm never flying with you again," he swore, dusting himself off and racing over to Clark who was already up and pacing distractedly. 

"Something... something's wrong," he was muttering, tugging at his cape and shirt, then effortlessly shredded them from his body. "Something's very wrong. I'm too hot. My skin. There's something _wrong,_ Bruce," he said urgently. His hands were shaking and Bruce could actually see a sheen of sweat on Clark's skin. Superman never sweated. 

_Hell._

"Tell me what you need," Bruce urged. God, he hated feeling so helpless. 

Clark turned to stare at him, a look of dawning horror on his face. "Get back," he whispered. 

"Like hell I will," Bruce snarled, crowding him. "Talk to me!"

"Something's happening!" Clark pushed Bruce and sent him into a flying, backwards roll. Bruce straightened out of the roll just as Clark collapsed on his hands and knees, now ten feet away. "Stay back, stay-" Clark gasped. He arched his naked back, his face a mask of pain. Bruce could see something shifting under the skin.

"No, no!" Bruce shouted, powerless to stop whatever they'd done to him.

Clark clenched his teeth, breathing heavily as the things shifted and grew, impossibly stretching his skin. He screamed as two large wings burst out of his back, red and translucent in the sunlight. Once the first scream started, he couldn't stop as his entire body started to buckle and shift.

"Clark, look at me! Clark!" Bruce yelled. But Clark seemed too far gone, lost to everything but the pain as his legs, arms, then his whole body, stretched and rippled. A single, silent moment hung breathless in the air, then Clark seemed to burst outward, unfolding from within himself into something huge and alien.

Bruce's heart pounded in his chest. He was panting, ready to run, to fight, knowing all his excess adrenaline was useless. Clark lay motionless, enormous and sprawled across the ground.

He was over twenty feet in length from his large, triangular-shaped head down to his long, muscular tail. The wings had expanded in size and now were immense red sails, capable of carrying a creature Clark's size in flight. He was covered in scales, the color a familiar red.

His giant torso rose and fell heavily, slowing as he caught his breath. Bruce stole towards the head. This was Clark, he reminded himself. No matter what he looked like, he had Bruce's trust.

"Don't move, Clark," Bruce said, trying to sound calm. "Just open your eyes."

Intense blue eyes flickered open. Bruce saw the inner and outer lids pull back from the orbs. They were each the size of Bruce's hand, the pupil contracting to focus on him.

"Are you still in pain?"

A deep rumble rolled up from Clark's chest, growling and wordless. The eyes opened wide, the pupils huge and dark. Bruce felt a spike of panic in his chest and head. 

_"Can't talk, can't talk! Trapped inside- can't talk!"_

"Stop it," Bruce snapped, pretending as hard as possible that he was calm. They couldn't both panic at once. "I can hear you just fine in my head. Try to control it."

Immediately the pressure in his chest eased. Clark's eyes focused and he cocked his head at Bruce. Bruce felt a determined concentration coalesce around him, and then more gently: 

_"Can you hear me?"_

"Yes, I hear you." Bruce could feel his own body begin to step down from high alert and he heaved a breath. 

Clark turned his head and his long, muscular neck allowed him to survey his form. A red fan-shaped crenelation from just behind his skull opened, and Bruce felt surprise from Clark. 

_"So."_

"Yeah."

_"They turned me into a dragon."_

"Looks that way," Bruce said, making it an offhanded comment. "I wonder what they thought they were going to accomplish with that." He waved a hand at Clark's huge body, pretending he wasn't shaking.

_"They said they'd force us to show our true forms. Maybe they were expecting something smaller? Feral demon-rabbits?"_

"This is no time for jokes." He stalked towards his pack to work off his fear.

_"Bruce. We're lost in an alternate dimension, separated by an unknown distance from the people we came to save, and now I've been turned into a dragon. If this isn't a time for a good joke then I can't think of a better one."_

"Once you're finished with your juvenile attempts at humor," Bruce growled, digging through his pack, "maybe you'd like to answer my question."

_"Which was?"_

"How do you feel?" He deliberately kept his head down. The question wasn't personally important. It was just... protocol.

 _"Well, for starters, I can feel you,"_ Clark said. _"Your emotions. You're... concerned? Worried about me? Does that sound right?"_

"Worried about the mission. Once again you've been unforgivably careless. You could have been-" he cut himself off, exhaling harshly. "You can speak in my mind. Can you read what I'm thinking?"

Bruce felt that pressure in his chest and around his skin, again. It wasn't unpleasant, he noted. _"No,"_ Clark said, and Bruce could hear a thread of humor in his 'voice'. _"Your secrets are safe."_

"But you know what I'm feeling, which is still inexcusable. A complete violation. You shouldn't have, this wasn't-" he clenched his jaw, trying to stop his body from shaking.

 _"This isn't your fault."_ A wave of concern washed through him and its warmth eased the bone-deep chills. 

"It is!" he rounded on Clark, aware that he was shouting but unable to stop. "You were right, we had no business there. You said there was trouble but I thought, I should have known-"

_"I agreed with you. We needed intel to understand this world and find the missing people-"_

"Stop doing that!" Bruce glared at him. "Stop... feeling like that. Stop knowing what I'm feeling. I need my privacy, damn it, and now you're in my head and you know what I feel. How can I work like this?"

Bruce expected anger or justifiable protests. Instead, he felt wry amusement bubbling over him. He stared at Clark, completely thrown.

 _"Bruce,"_ Clark said, far too gently. _"I always know what you're feeling. What everyone around me feels. Humans broadcast their emotions by scent, by heart rate, capillary expansion or constriction. There's a hundred-thousand different ways your bodies talk to each other. I can't help but know. I try not to pay attention, but..."_ he shrugged in apology, a truly incredible sight, with the wings involved.

Bruce's mind stuttered to a halt. Clark knew. He'd apparently always known how Bruce had felt. And yet, Clark still leaned into his space, was always touching him. Clark wasn't a cruel man, he wouldn't just torment someone. So what did it mean? Was it possible that Clark-

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, trying to jump-start his brain. "Right. Fine. We're going to have a long conversation later about keeping secrets." He felt a flush of guilt from Clark which didn't solve anything, and really, Bruce was justifiably put out by this new intel, but it made Bruce feel like a heel, regardless. 

He sighed and pulled out a knife. "Do me a favor and look for your boot. I'd like to know our exit strategy is still intact."

 _"I don't suppose if we go back and try to explain things that they'd change me back,"_ Clark said, apparently accepting that the conversation was on-hold for a more appropriate time. He began shifting, looking under and around himself for the shreds of his clothes. 

"No, I don't suppose they would. I think we need to accept that you're stuck like that, for the time being. Best get used to it."

Clark tensed, bunching his legs under him, and fluttered his wings for balance. He shifted his long tail and gripped the earth with his talons, then heaved himself to his feet. He towered over Bruce, the sun shining redly through his wings. A familiar scent, like the air after a summer storm, carried on the breeze to Bruce, stronger when Clark flapped his wings again.

"You still smell the same," Bruce blurted, then grit his teeth, wishing the earth would conveniently open up under him.

 _"That's why I brought you along,"_ Clark smiled in his head. _"Your powers of observation."_

Bruce glared daggers at him, and Clark's laughter shivered across his skin. Bruce turned to walk away, then froze as he felt a sudden tenseness from Clark. "What is it?"

_"I think we have a problem."_

Bruce exhaled, set his jaw, and turned around. "Oh?" he asked, glacially calm.

_"I found my boot, but the signal rune doesn't smell right."_

"You can smell it? Never mind, of course you can. Describe it."

_"I'm not sure. It smells wrong. Broken, I guess."_

Bruce walked to where Clark was hulking over his destroyed boot and picked up the stone disc. It was cold and heavy, the runes dark. "This was glowing before."

_"I know. I think when I got hit with that curse-"_

"Something shorted out," Bruce finished. He ground his teeth, clenching the rune in a black-gloved fist. "There goes our exit strategy."

 _"Zatanna and Fate were waiting for our signal from the other side,"_ Clark pointed out, mantling his wings and sitting on his haunches. _"They'll figure out something's wrong. Eventually."_

"Your faith in them is touching," Bruce snapped, pocketing the dead rune and stalking back to his pack. One thing at a time, he reminded himself. First, find the eight missing people, then worry about a way home. He took his knife back out and turned to his task.

_"Well, we are in a land of magic and the rune stone still smells like home. All we need to do is find someone who can read it and open a portal for us. We already know they can create a way into our world."_

"First we have to find someone who won't attack us on sight," Bruce muttered, digging deeper into his pack. Where was his tension line?

 _"What're you doing?"_ Clark poked his head curiously towards Bruce.

"You realize you're still our most reliable form of transport?" He methodically started slicing straps and buckles from his suit and from the spare in the pack.

_"And?"_

Bruce grinned a sharp smile at him. "I'm making a saddle."

*_*_*

The sun seemed to hang forever in the sky, interfering with Bruce's time sense. He estimated that he'd spent hours shearing through the tough grasses to weave them into a seat for the harness.

It might have taken less time, but he was distracted by watching Clark. It didn't take long before Clark was moving easily in his new skin. He stalked from one grassy hilltop to the next, challenging his body and discovering what it was capable of.

He'd slink close to the ground, silent as a shadow, then spring, impossibly fast, before melting into near invisibility against the curve of the hill. Finally, with a giant leap, Clark gathered his body and leaped into the sky. 

His wings beat the air, creating a wind that scattered Bruce's work. His shadow darkened the ground beneath him while the sun shone redly through his wings. He hovered for several beats, testing himself, then exploded into flight.

Bruce shaded his eyes with his hand, his work forgotten. Clark rolled and swooped in the sky above him, strong and free, and Bruce felt something hard unknot inside him. As long as Clark had this, then nothing too horrible had been taken from him.

He went back to his work, ignoring the warmth in his chest.

Bruce was almost finished covering the padding with his cape when Clark returned. This time he threw his body over it. "Do you mind?" he shouted over the wind.

 _"Sorry,"_ Clark said, setting gently down and folding his massive wings. _"Can I help?"_

"Yes, actually. I need to fit this to you. We'll probably have to let some of these straps out, but this should be pretty close."

Clark eyed it suspiciously. _"It looks... complicated. Why do you need all those straps?"_

"Don't worry, I won't try to steer you with it," Bruce snorted. "The harness is supposed to be adjustable in flight. Your movement will naturally loosen the straps and I want some control so I don't end up sliding off."

 _"I could carry you,"_ Clark suggested, holding out a massive fore-claw.

"You've almost dropped me twice today. Forget it. I want a safety harness."

Bruce could somehow feel Clark rolling his eyes, but he obediently hunkered down to the ground.

This was closer than he'd been since Clark's transformation, and Bruce could see that the hard, shiny scales on his body gave way to softer hide at his joints and around his face. He held the harness under one arm and hesitated, just out of reach.

 _"You can touch me,"_ Clark rested his chin on the ground. _"I wish you would. It would make me feel less... strange."_

Bruce reached out with his left hand and lay his open palm on Clark's muzzle. He still radiated heat; Bruce could feel it soaking through his glove. Clark closed his eyes, sighing at the touch. 

_"Take them off,"_ Clark whispered. Bruce dropped the harness, his curiosity getting the better of him. He stripped his hands bare, and touched.

"You're so warm," Bruce said, exploring with his palms and fingers. The hide was smooth and supple under his hands. Clark sighed again and Bruce could smell the warm, familiar scent of him. He reached higher, exploring the ridges over one great eye as Clark started to thrum, deep in his chest.

"Is it okay?" Bruce paused.

 _"Feels good,"_ Clark purred in his mind. _"Don't stop."_

Clark lifted his head and tucked his muzzle into Bruce's chest. Bruce could feel the thrumming deep in his body. Clark's mental voice felt deeper, or stronger, or more, skin-to-skin like this. Bruce leaned his weight against Clark's great head, stroking and rubbing as far as he could reach.

 _"I can feel you in my mind,"_ Clark hummed, nuzzling deeper into Bruce.

"Differently than before?" Bruce asked, his voice gone dark and husky.

_"Yes. "Like a puzzle-piece in a place I didn't know was empty. It ached before; now it doesn't. God, I didn't know I needed this."_

The fan behind Clark's skull unfolded, and the stiff vanes that held its shape trembled with Clark's thrumming. Greatly daring, Bruce reached up and brushed his fingers against the thin membrane.

 _"OH!"_ Clark gasped, shuddering at Bruce's touch. Bruce felt like he was swimming in Clark's scent, in the pressure of Clark's mind around his skin, inside his head. He brushed the fan again and felt his body respond with Clark's. God, so good.

 _"Bruce,"_ Clark thrummed, deep and insistent inside of him.

"This is... I have no idea what this is," Bruce said.

 _"Don't you?"_ Clark murmured

Bruce gripped Clark's muzzle with both hands and pressed his face to Clark's forehead. He lay there, breathing in Clark's scent, trying to find his way back inside his own skin.

 _"Are you all right?_ " Clark asked, holding firm to support Bruce's weight.

"I don't know where my control is," Bruce admitted, shocked by his own honesty. "And this body's new to you. I'm almost certainly taking advantage." Bruce rolled his face until only his forehead touched Clark's.

 _"I'm a twenty-five foot dragon. I bet I could tell you 'no',"_ Clark chuckled, sending fresh shivers down Bruce's spine, but he lifted his head gently away from Bruce. 

"Nonetheless." Bruce was sweating and breathing heavily, but it was just the heat from Clark's skin, he told himself. Likewise, the humid ache in his groin was his body getting its signals crossed with Clark's. Nothing to worry about. He was certainly not so desperately aroused that he wanted to strip bare and rub himself against Clark. He ran a hand helplessly down his thigh, as close as he dared to his throbbing dick. God.

Clark looked at him with too-knowing eyes, then turned his head and rubbed it languidly along the ground, still thrumming in his chest. His eyes were half lidded and his wings fluttered, restless.

"Hold still," Bruce rasped, slipping his gloves on and hefting the harness. "I can't get this on you while you're rolling around like that."

 _"Try not to touch my wings right now,"_ Clark smiled, and Bruce felt a rush of heat in his belly at the thought.

"Fine." It would be a simple thing to avoid Clark's wings. No work at all to keep from exploring them with his bare hands, to not feel that liquid pleasure thrum in his body or know that he had caused Clark's pleasure, was sharing Clark's arousal...

Hell.

He gripped the harness tightly enough to leave bruises. 

Fortunately, it was easier to touch Clark with his gloves in place. The telepathy was muted and the heat and the thrumming were soothing, rather than overwhelming. With a little concentration, Bruce found he could easily stay inside his own skin. Clark stopped rolling around and cooperated, stepping through the straps or pumping his wings as Bruce directed.

He didn't stop giving Bruce those knowing looks, though, and he often interrupted to nuzzle his head against Bruce's chest. Bruce found himself stroking a hand down Clark's muzzle or jaw, secretly welcoming the touches.

Finally, the last adjustments were made. Bruce secured the 'counter to the pack's exterior where he could monitor it, and strapped the pack just behind where he'd be sitting. He'd salvaged the white disks that usually hid Batman's eyes and made a pair of wind goggles. He was wearing his blacks with the Bat symbol but his head was bare, and his armored suit had been completely sacrificed for the harness. 

Well, if it kept him in the air it was a small price to pay, he supposed.

He stroked his hand absently down Clark's neck and Clark turned his head to survey their work. _"Not feeling nervous, are you?"_

"Of course not. I'm simply calculating all the variables. Things like weight allowances and wind speed. Obviously."

 _"Of course,"_ Clark grinned, extending his foreleg. _"Well then, up you go."_

Bruce took a deep breath and stepped up, swung his leg over Clark's shoulder and settled into the harness. He clipped and fastened himself securely, then gripped the adjustable straps.

"Ready."

_"Relax. I haven't dropped you yet."_

"Yet," Bruce muttered.

Clark gathered himself powerfully under Bruce. He could feel those massive muscles tense between his thighs and he gripped more tightly, his heart racing.

One mental flicker was all the warning Bruce got, then they surged up, Clark's wings huge and powerful around them. This was nothing like the effortless flights in Superman's arms. Their muscles strained together, shifting their weight and learning each other's bodies even as they climbed higher and higher.

Bruce thought Clark might be seeping into his mind again. He could almost feel the pull on Clark's wings, the magnificent stretch of his chest, the glorious rightness of being in flight with Bruce's weight, secure on his back.

He leaned closer to Clark's neck and felt their bodies mesh more deeply. They leveled off, their wings pumping, the blood flowing with dizzying speed in their veins. Bruce grinned, exhilarated, as their wings caught an updraft and they soared higher. There'd never been anything like this. He felt Clark agree as they banked and soared through the clouds, awesomely powerful together.

It was the most intimate experience of his life.

Eyes closed, for once he allowed himself to simply exist. He put away his mission, his fears, his battle strategies, and just breathed. For a moment nothing beyond this priceless gift mattered.

Clark was the first to feel the strap loosening and Bruce felt it, through him, just seconds later. He looped the tertiary around his right hand and pulled, readjusting his weight and settling back into the harness. Clark compensated for his movements as easily as if they'd always done this.

"Let's see how far we can get before sunset!" Bruce shouted over the wind.

 _"What heading?"_ Clark asked, as ready as Bruce to test their wings.

"West, nor-west! We're picking up some promising readings from that direction!"

Bruce felt Clark reach his senses out in a web. The magnetic poles tugged at their inner ear as they canted north. Bruce leaned his body flush against Clark's neck, the wonderful heat from his skin suffusing his muscles. Their wings buoyed them and he looked down, seeing the hills race by far below. He turned his face into Clark's neck, breathing in the scent of him. "You're a lot slower in this form," he remarked, grinning to himself.

Clark snorted and tossed his head. _"You asked for it."_

Clark wrapped his mind protectively around Bruce. Then, like a dam opening, Bruce felt the power surge through Clark's body and they exploded forward as though they'd been standing still. The wind screamed past and tore at Bruce's seat. A fierce grin spread across his face and he gripped harder with his legs and hands. "Faster," he urged, and Clark responded.

 

*_*_*

 

They made camp at dusk.

By the time the sun finally began to set, their muscles were deliciously sore. Bruce, for one, was ready for food. Clark set them down in a sheltered valley with a large stream nearby. He barely waited for Bruce to get the harness off before he slipped into the water, disappearing until only his eyes and the tips of his nostrils showed.

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him as Clark sighed with contentment. _"I love doing this at home,"_ he confided. _"After working hard, I get into an icy cold shower. Rao, it feels so good on my skin."_

"I'll take your word for it," Bruce smiled. "I prefer mine almost too hot to stand." He tied the harness together and stowed it in his pack.

 _"Of course you do,"_ Clark said. The clear affection in his voice made Bruce's heart feel uncomfortably full in his chest. 

"Are you eating?" Bruce asked, pulling out a c-ration. 

_"If I were, could you pull an antelope out of there?"_ Clark teased. He rolled in the stream, his wings sloshing the water and spraying it over Bruce.

"Hey!" Bruce shielded his face with an arm. "Watch it!" Clark just laughed silently and settled down on the stream bed. 

_"Really, I don't feel hungry, though. It feels like I'm still getting some energy from the sun."_

"And maybe dragons don't need to eat that often," Bruce mused. "Be handy, if it were true." He sighed and forced himself to start eating. C-rations were necessary calories and his body needed the fuel.

The horizon was a painter's dream, afire in colors both familiar and unnameable. Clark eventually slipped out of the water and settled next to Bruce. His body steamed, the water evaporating quickly as they contemplated the heedless beauty before them. _"I'm glad I didn't go through that rift alone,"_ Clark said, after a time. _"I'm glad it's you here, with me."_

Bruce grunted, the ache in his chest growing tighter. He finally stood up as darkness stole over their little valley, and walked away from Clark to bury his trash and get ready for the night.

He walked a distance from their site, only realizing once he was gone how Clark's heat had kept him from being chilled. Practicing a meditation for discomfort, he walked further into a stand of scrub, looking for firewood.

On his return the breeze carried Clark's scent to him and it hit him low in the gut, reminding him of earlier. He sucked in his breath, feeling a hot, achy desire slither in his belly. He gripped the firewood more tightly and clenched his jaw. He certainly wasn't cold, now.

Bruce tried to distract himself by starting the fire and setting out his bedroll, but now he could smell Clark's scent with every breath. The burning ache in his gut flared higher by the minute.

He glanced at Clark. Could he feel the need rolling off of him? Could he smell it? He shivered at the thought. Clark lay in a languid sprawl, watching Bruce with half-lidded eyes. He stretched one wing out, fluttered it lazily, then left it half unfurled between them.

Bruce swallowed hard, the scent thick and wonderful at the back of his throat. He kneeled to bank the fire and deliberately turned his back on Clark.

 _"I wish you'd make up your mind,"_ Clark said, his voice wistful in Bruce's mind.

"About?" he asked, trying to suppress where this was heading.

_"About whether you really want me or not. Is it because I'm like this?"_

"No." He sighed, suddenly too tired to lie to himself. "It doesn't matter what shape you're in. You're... you," he waved. The words wouldn't come, and Clark's sudden sadness was a terrible pressure in his chest.

 _"So it's not the shape, it's that it's me."_ Bruce felt Clark's grief well up, a loss so huge that Bruce barely had words for it. _"I'd hoped for so long, that maybe... but I guess was wrong."_ He felt Clark take his grief and wrap it up in a box of determined acceptance, his will as strong as anything Bruce had ever felt.

Then he felt Clark start to withdraw from his mind, and as clearly as he'd ever known anything, Bruce knew that this retreat was permanent. It was also completely unacceptable.

"Stop, that's not what I meant!" He strode forward and grabbed Clark's muzzle in both hands to stare into his eyes. Bruce was furious, but Clark didn't respond, so he held on tighter.

"It's not," Bruce shook his head, words, as ever, his enemy. "I want. It's not that I don't," he forced out, fighting a lifetime of self-control and silence. "You," he grated, his throat as raw as if he'd been screaming. "I want you. I have, for a while now."

_"Why is this so hard for you?"_

Bruce wished he would allow their minds to flow together again, but Clark held back, staring with those deeply familiar blue eyes, and waited for his answer.

"I can't lose control," Bruce rasped, leaning his forehead against Clark. "I can't! Once I want something I want it forever. Can't you see what a liability that would be for my mission?" The cramp in his gut pulsed hotter, reminding him that he was fooling himself. He already wanted, and so fucking badly. 

He felt like he was being stretched between opposing forces, being ripped in two. It was almost unendurable to stay here on the cusp.

 _"Then, you do want me,"_ Clark said into the maelstrom of his mind. The wall of resigned sadness started to splinter, and Bruce suddenly knew that he couldn't stand to have it there for another second.

"Yes," he snarled. He tore his gloves off and pressed his hands against Clark. "I do. I want you. God help me when you leave, but I want, I want-"

The cold wall shattered inside him. He felt Clark surge into his mind like the sun at midday, burning-hot and vital. Bruce moaned, pressing himself as close as he could, feeling Clark's heat burn him from the outside in.

Clark curled around him. He nudged Bruce into his shoulder, then surrounded him with his body. Bruce leaned his whole self into Clark, trusting him to bear his weight and keep him from falling. He felt Clark roar into his mind, thundering and triumphant. He challenged it and roared in return; the reverberation building louder and stronger in their minds until it crescendoed into a single voice. 

_"Not everyone leaves,"_ Clark said into the hush. Part of Bruce wanted to open up to the words, like leaves in spring. But the cynical, harsh, Bat-self whispered that it would believe that when it happened. Too many people had died or been driven away. Or had simply left. 

"I'm not like you," Bruce said. "I don't know if I can give you... enough."

 _"For you, I'd be willing to take that chance. Sometimes you have to jump off a cliff before you know if your wings will open up."_ He spoke with unselfconscious courage, the sort Bruce knew he could never match. 

"Sometimes, you just fall," he muttered, his exhaustion dragging him under.

 _"And sometimes,"_ he thought he heard, on the edge of sleep _"there's someone there to catch you."_

*_*_*

Bruce executed a perfect dive into the frigid stream. He surfaced, then swam in brisk strokes, first with, then against the rushing water. It was too cold to continue long, but he needed at least a minute to get his head together.

The sea change that had swept through him last night had been incredible. Almost indescribable. But Bruce could think of a few words, if pressed. Words like overwhelming. Or exhausting. And, of course, hideously embarrassing. So he swam, pushing his body hard and using the familiar pain to find some footing in his own mind.

He started with examining what he knew. Wanting Clark's body, wanting him sexually, was one thing. He was only human, and how many late night fantasies had those muscles and that gorgeous mouth inspired? Now, finally, Bruce could admit that Clark was indeed open to exploring them. If they could ever get him changed back, that was.

No, what had kept him blind was the knowledge that he couldn't give Clark what he deserved. Bruce was the Dark Knight, and pain was both his weapon and his armor. The scar tissue in his mind had sealed certain things shut, long before they'd ever had a chance to grow. Which meant that if Clark was looking to him for love, well, Bruce just wasn't capable of it. 

He might, he allowed, like Clark. They were friends, after all. He'd even admit that he looked forward to talking with him. And arguing with him, which was always an invigorating challenge. Or just sitting in comfortable silence with him; Clark could be very relaxing, after all. And then there was his sly sense of humor, which had saved Bruce's sanity more than once during League meetings. Plus, he had an endearing way of ducking his head and rubbing his neck when he was embarrassed, which Bruce secretly enjoyed provoking.

Obviously, that all translated into a simple, friendly respect for Clark. But love? Certainly not. It was ridiculous to even think about.

If he was a better man he'd shut Clark out, tell him to go find someone who was capable of loving him. But, God help him, he'd warned Clark. Once he admitted to wanting something, he couldn't ever let it go. So he'd hold onto Clark and savor every moment he'd give him. Clark would eventually leave. How could he not? Of course he'd discover that Bruce was right, that there wasn't enough left in his heart to feed anyone.

Bruce would steel himself for the inevitable and until then, he'd take everything Clark would give him.

He finally crawled out when his muscles had cramped from the cold, secure that he knew his own mind. He dried himself with a scrap of uniform, then dressed quickly. Clark had politely turned his back to give Bruce some privacy, and he leaned against Clark's flank now, grateful for the generous warmth. 

"How far can you fly, today?"

 _"From what we've seen, the daylight here lasts about 26 hours. If we pace ourselves? Most of the day, I'd guess."_ Much to Bruce's relief, he refrained from bringing up last night's... event. Which was fine. If Bruce had his way they'd never have another "feelings" talk again. Ever.

Enjoying the present, though, was a different matter. He brushed a bare hand along Clark's flank and inhaled sharply at the liquid pleasure.

 _"Tease,"_ Clark accused, shifting restlessly in the morning light.

"Later," Bruce promised, believing, for the first time, that there could be a later. Clark shivered again, from his voice alone, and Bruce bit back a moan. God, that he could do this to Clark. It was such a rush. He felt powerful and hungry, and laid his palm flat just to feel Clark shudder helplessly under him.

 _"Put your gloves on or we're not going to get anything done this morning,"_ Clark mock-growled at him.

Bruce shot him a wicked grin and gloved up, then proceeded to get Clark into the harness for the day.

They soared easily for hours, their bodies moving in tandem. Today, flying was a quiet, companionable joy. Clark hummed his contentment and Bruce would sometimes join in, his baritone harmonizing with Clark's basso rumble.

Bruce was tightening the front primary strap when Clark caught a scent that made his lip curl. "What is it?" Bruce asked.

_"Not sure. It smells like a wave of decay."_

Bruce frowned and settled more firmly in the harness. "Could it have something to do with the rift?"

 _"It doesn't smell the same. But whatever it is, we're coming up on it fast."_ Bruce felt a strange shiver of anger surge along Clark's body.

Bruce twisted to check his gear and caught site of the 'counter. "The readings we've been tracking just spiked. Whatever we're coming up on, it's definitely associated with our missing people."

They crested the next rise and saw the source.

Stretched out before them was a seething hoard of gray, foul smelling creatures. They shambled forward, covering the ground like a fungal decay and left rotting flesh and destruction in their wake.

In the center of the hoard fought an increasingly small band of humans. Some of the hoard clumped up here and there as they stopped to eat the fallen. The humans were surrounded and fought with everything they had, but it was clearly their last stand.

"What's your stance about killing the undead?" Bruce asked, rummaging through his kit and unfolding a long, curved blade.

 _"You packed a sword?"_ Clark asked, circling the battle to size up their opposition. The men looked up as his shadow blocked the sun. Some yelled a warning, but most were too desperate to care.

"It's ultimately practical as a weapon. It never needs to be reloaded, upgraded, or require more than the most basic maintenance. And Alfred packed it."

_"Of course he did. And for the record, except in rare circumstances, destroying the undead is just fine by my moral code."_

Bruce edged forward in his seat, his adrenaline flooding his body, readying for combat. "And a shambling hoard of undead zombies?"

 _"Not an exception,"_ Clark rumbled, baring rows of sharp, deadly teeth.

"I hoped you'd see it that way." Bruce knew he was snarling a feral grin, the kind Batman used to strike fear into the hearts of the worst killers in Gotham.

Clark parted his jaws and roared. It was entirely inhuman, echoing like a scream and vibrating like the deepest bellow. The entire battlefield froze, shocked in an instant of terror. Then Clark dove.

Bruce leaned close to Clark's neck, preparing for enemy contact, and he felt that strange rush of shivering rage ripple up Clark's body. Clark leveled out of the dive, parted his jaws, and breathed fire across the undead hoard.

Bruce used their momentum to fling explosives deep into the masses. He heard them detonate and saw pieces of the undead explode in the air. The zombies around them stopped advancing to feed on their pulped bodies.

Clark hovered just above the human army and roared again as he set fire to more of the undead hoard. They melted like wax and scrambled away from the blazing, red death that screamed for their destruction.

Clark landed in the now-empty pocket between the two armies as Bruce launched himself from Clark's back. "I'll see to the humans!"

 _"Agreed."_ Clark tore into the seething mass of undead creatures. He swept his tail at an advance guard and destroyed dozens of them in a moment. He crunched them with his jaws or tore them to pieces with his talons, and spewed fire with every other breath. Soon he was surrounded by a burning inferno of undead. He screamed a battle cry and reared up, beating his wings to fan the flames and spread them even further into the hoard. Then he waded in, purifying everything in his path with fire and leaving nothing moving in his wake.

Bruce sprinted to the outer circle of the human army. "Don't attack, we're here to help! Watch your right flank!"

An enterprising group of zombies had slipped around the total destruction Clark was waging. The humans, distracted and exhausted, were almost in their reach.

Bruce flung another explosive high and fast, using the concussive force to blast the forerunners back from the army. He leaped into the fray and dismembered the nearest undead.

"By the hells, what is that thing?" one of the men yelled, swinging a cudgel at a zombie.

"It's a dragon, you dimwit!" another snarled, hacking a rotting corpse to bits.

"Where's your commanding officer?" Bruce dodged and spun, lightning-fast, and took the head and legs off a zombie about to bite a soldier in the neck.

"That would be me!" a man yelled, forcing his way through the melee towards Bruce. "What manner of creature looks like a man, but rides on the back of a beast like that?" He swung his sword, neglecting his own defense to cover one of his men.

"I'll explain later!" Bruce snarled. "When we flew overhead, we saw a deep ravine not far beyond that hill. If you pull back your men you can get to the other side and cut the bridge."

"That was the plan!" the commander yelled. "But we were surrounded before we could go so far!"

"Then sound the retreat! We'll hold them off and meet you after the battle."

The commander paused to examine Bruce. To decide, in an instant, whether to trust this unlooked for help or to dispatch him as another enemy. Bruce threw an exploding batarang, pulping the head of a zombie just behind the commander. The commander spun in shock, then glanced back at Bruce. "Very well. Till then, stranger."

He yelled to his men, running back to them and sounding the retreat.

Bruce turned back to his own battle, fighting the advancing hoard with deadly satisfaction.

*_*_*

Bruce limped to Clark's side. There was nothing moving on this side of the ravine except the two of them. Clark was streaked with soot, his wings drooping with exhaustion. He pushed his head into Bruce's chest with palpable relief.

 _"Was worried about you,"_ he murmured. He wrapped a sheltering wing around Bruce, drawing him close. 

"Please," Bruce snorted, rubbing his sweaty face against Clark's cheek. "There was no possibility I'd be in danger from a few mindless zombies."

 _"A few? No. But there were kind of a lot of them. I saw you limping. Are you hurt?"_ Bruce felt Clark's mind, like phantom fingers, trickle down his body looking for the injury.

"Pulled a muscle looking after one of those idiot soldiers. Moron was ignoring the retreat. Just about had to skewer him myself, to get him to leave with the rest. Say," he said, dismissing the incident, "I didn't know you could breath fire."

Bruce felt Clark shrug, his wings rising and falling around them. _"Neither did I. Not till it happened. When I felt those zombies in my mind, I was so angry, it just happened. I guess I'm still figuring this body out."_

Bruce hmm'd in thought and trailed his hand down Clark's neck. "C'mon. It's time we introduced ourselves, I suppose."

Bruce felt Clark's concern form, like a glacier in calm waters. The tip of it was reasonably visible, but beneath the surface lurked a huge, unexplored, mass. Before, he knew that he'd have ignored it, certain of his own read on the situation. But he'd already made one disastrous mistake in judgment on this mission, and Clark had paid the price.

"Something's bothering you." He paused in the act of climbing Clark's shoulder, balanced against his side.

_"Just before we saw the battle, you said that the rift particle readings had spiked. I'm all for saving lives, but I think we need to keep in mind that these soldiers are somehow associated with our missing people."_

"True." Bruce swung up into the saddle and secured himself to the harness. "The readings aren't strong enough for even one of our missing eight to be in the area. But some of those soldiers have to have come in contact with them."

 _"I'm exhausted right now,"_ Clark warned, turning to face the encampment on the far bank. _"Things could go badly if we announce our mission and they decide to attack. I might not have enough strength to get us away without seriously hurting someone. People could die."_

Bruce chewed on his lip. He called up and framed in his mind every impression he'd formed of the army's commander. He remembered the way he'd over-extended himself to save one of his own men. He analyzed the look in the man's eye as he sized up Bruce, deciding whether to trust his men's lives to Bruce's help.

"The commander, at least, was honorable in combat. We helped him so he might be willing to give us information about the rift, if he knows."

Clark spread his wings and shook them out. _"I trust you more than anyone I know. If you think he can help us find our missing people, then we'll go."_

Bruce tightened the straps. "Besides, I won't let them hurt you," he growled. He felt the amusement flow up from Clark.

_"Right now, that's the least of my worries."_

"Of course it is. You never take enough time to think about your own safety. It's-" he closed his mouth before he could finish the sentence.

 _"Annoying? Irritating? Difficult to plan around?"_ Clark teased, setting out in a rolling gait towards the ravine.

"The main reason I came along," Bruce admitted, riding the roll of Clark's shoulders. "I had every confidence that you'd find the missing eight yourself. I also knew that if you didn't have someone to look after you, that you'd be out here taking appalling risks."

Clark cocked his head back at Bruce. _"You came because you couldn't bear to let me out of your sight."_ The teasing tone hid something deeper, richer, beneath it.

"Don't flatter yourself," Bruce muttered, stroking Clark's neck in return. Clark rumbled appreciatively.

When they were at the ravine, Clark turned sideways so Bruce could see to assess the situation first-hand. "Could be we were worried over nothing. There's hardly an unwounded man over there."

The soldiers had made camp, practically falling over where they stood. The healthier ones were bandaging the seriously wounded. The lookout called, and Bruce saw the commander come to the fore. "That's him. Be sure to ask him if we can interview his men. If I can scan them individually with the 'counter, I can separate out who's been exposed to the radiation our missing persons are shedding."

 _"Bruce,"_ Clark snorted. _"I know it's usually not your bailiwick, but you're going to have to be the diplomatic one this time."_

"Oh." Obviously. Bruce shook his head, irritated with himself. Of course all they'd see when they looked at Clark was a huge predator with wings. It wasn't as though he'd forgotten, exactly. But Clark was just so... Clark. 

Bruce cleared his throat. "Permission to cross?" he yelled. He saw the commander's eyebrows raise. 

"Granted," he yelled back, after a beat. "So long as you can give assurances that your beast won't attack my men."

Bruce ground his teeth. "He'll be fine," he growled. Several of the men took involuntary steps back.

 _"Easy,"_ Clark reminded him. He sat down on his haunches and curled his tail neatly at his feet. His whole demeanor radiated polite non-aggression. 

"You're better at this. Why don't you talk to them?" Bruce muttered. One of the soldiers was fiddling with his bow. He hadn't strung an arrow, quite, but Bruce had marked him for the first batarang.

 _"I just tried. I don't think they heard me. Maybe when we're closer?"_

"Then you may cross and be welcome," the commander shouted into their discussion. 

Bruce gripped the harness and Clark worked his tired wings. They leaped in the air and glided more than flew across the ravine. They caught an updraft and circled once over the camp. "Put down on that hill over there," Bruce pointed to a rise a good fifty yards away. "Let them come to us."

*_*_*

Bruce limped back from the camp. The commander had approached them with a small group of men, thanking Bruce for his help, and inviting him back to share in their supplies. "We'd take it as a kindness, however, if your beast would, erm, remain at a distance. He spooks the horses, among other things."

Clark had simply shrugged. He still couldn't make himself heard to the soldiers, and Bruce was naturally close-lipped about revealing tactical info. Neither of them wanted to reveal that Clark was more than he seemed. Still, Clark seemed oddly relieved not to be invited closer. Bruce frowned, but chalked it up to Clark's earlier concerns.

So Bruce went alone to the camp. He was treated with wary respect and served an actual hot meal at the commander's table. The commander introduced himself as Prince James. He was from a city-state similar the kind they'd already encountered, and had been sent out by his father, the king, to investigate the magical theft being reported across the countryside. They'd been returning home when they surprised the zombie hoard.

"They weren't expecting anyone on their rear flank, that much was clear," James said. "By the hells, I shudder to think what would have happened if we hadn't come upon them when we did. We knew it was suicide, but those things were marching on our homes and families. We made a pact to sell ourselves dearly, to give our families as much chance as we could to survive. How was it that you came upon us in such a dire time?"

Bruce gave him a brief summary of the rift and the missing eight. He didn't say anything about Clark's transformation, or their damaged rune stone. He might be a potential ally, but Bruce saw no reason to show his hand, just yet.

"You've proved yourself to be a just and honorable man," James said, pouring Bruce a cup of wine. "Is there something I could do for you, in return for saving our lives?"

Bruce hesitated with the cup at his lips, wishing that Clark were here to check the food for poison. He took a small sip and put the cup down. "With your permission, I'd like to walk among your men in the morning. I have a, a sort of device, to scry for our missing people. It tells me that someone in your camp might know something that would be useful to us."

Did Bruce imagine the slight tightness around James' eyes? A second later, he was, once again the tired, but gracious, host. "Of course. A very small thing to ask, for the service you've given us."

Bruce grunted, satisfied, and stood. "I'm certain you have other responsibilities," he said, gripping James' arm in farewell. "I'll join you in the morning. He turned to go, then stopped and looked over his shoulder. "One more thing. Do you always tour your countryside with a full complement of soldiers?"

Prince James blinked rapidly, then smiled. "Of course. As you saw, it's best to be prepared." His smile showed all his teeth.

"Of course," Bruce murmured. Good night."

The guards kept their hands on their weapons and escorted Bruce to the edge of their camp. Bruce simply ignored them. Even hurt and exhausted from battle, he could easily take these three. He reviewed the interview in his mind and knew that, as Superman, Clark would have said something, or smiled his easy smile, and James would have gone from being a potential ally to a trusted friend. However, Bruce wasn't Superman and he couldn't shake his habitual paranoia that he was being lied to.

Fat, pattering raindrops broke him out of his thoughts. One of the guards with him groaned. Bruce frowned at him and the one to his left snorted. 

"You must truly be from a distant place, if you don't know about the night rains."

"It was dry, last night," Bruce pointed out.

"And we praised the Hearth Mother for it. The mages say the rains should come at night, to increase the daytime sun for grain harvest. So now it rains all night, every night."

"Most nights," Bruce correctly absently. It seemed magic was used to control a great deal, here. If James was right, that someone or something was stealing regional magics, then it would necessarily have large-scale effects on the phenomena it was used to control. Like weather. Or storms.

He looked up at the sky. The rain had gone from a drizzle to a downpour in seconds. He was already drenched to the skin and the guards with him were shivering. Bruce barely noticed. Weather control. Night storms. What had the rift been, but an impossibly huge electrical storm? Interesting.

They topped a rise and the soldiers with him cursed and drew their swords. Ahead of them, in the driving rain, was Clark. He was standing to his full height, his wings spread, glorying in the downpour. Lightning flashed behind him, illuminating his wings and throwing his fearsome form into silhouette.

He was beautiful.

Bruce pushed past the soldiers and went to him. Clark murmured a wordless welcome in his mind and nuzzled his head to Bruce's chest. _"I think I scared them."_

"They're idiots," Bruce said. He buried his face against Clark, warm even in the drenching rain. As suddenly as flipping a switch, the rain stopped beating down on him, and Bruce looked up to find Clark's wing curved over him.

_"They'd probably let you stay in one of their tents, if you asked." He curled around Bruce, his heat already warming and drying Bruce's clothes._

"I'm fine, here." He dashed back into the rain and pulled his pack under shelter. The temperature difference made him shiver and he was grateful to curl up against Clark and soak in his heat. He stripped his shirt off and bedded down, as safe and content as he could remember being.

"Prince James, the commander, invited us to come back to his city," Bruce said. His eyes already felt heavy and he tucked his pack under his head. "He says he'll vouch for us when we arrive. I accepted. I can scan the guards as we move and it gives us a viable way to get into the city. I've got a feeling we'll find our missing people, there."

 _"See,"_ Clark teased, _"I knew underneath all those scowls you had the soul of a diplomat."_

"Go to hell," Bruce grunted. He yawned and burrowed closer to Clark's side. Clark's laughter shivered through his mind, and Bruce remembered Clark's, full, kissable lips and his thousand-megawatt smile. Clark was rumbling a purr around and inside of him, and he drifted off to the sound of it.

He woke at a huge thunderclap, loud enough to be right on top of them. 

_"It's fine,_ " Clark said, his huge head tucked under his wing with Bruce. He slid open an eye, then nudged closer to Bruce. "Just the storm."

"Thought it was a gun," Bruce mumbled, his mouth moving before checking in with his brain. Shadow memories of an alleyway, a dangerous man, blood, and being left horribly alone flitted through him.

 _"I'm sorry,"_ Clark offered, and Bruce could kick himself for being so transparent. He rubbed at his face and leaned his naked back against Clark's side to take stock.

It was still the middle of an absurdly long night; the diurnal cycles here were frustratingly slow. The rain poured down beyond the shelter of Clark's body, loud enough to drown out the sounds from the camp. Within, Bruce was dry and warm, thanks to Clark.

And, he discovered, deeply, hungrily aroused. Also thanks to Clark. He thumped his head back and took a deep breath to calm himself. Rather than help, the rain made Clark's scent dark and thick, and Bruce felt like he was breathing pure sex. He took another breath and felt the hunger flare hotter in his belly. God.

 _"You can do something about that, you know."_ Clark's voice was like velvet in his mind. Bruce strangled a groan and scratched his fingernails down his thigh.

"I am not going to masturbate with an entire army just over that hill." His dick surged at the thought. Traitor.

 _"Even if you don't want to touch yourself where everyone can hear,"_ Clark said, pausing significantly at the jolt to Bruce's cock, _"it's raining so hard, no one would ever know."_

Clark's scent was thick and heavy at the back of his throat. Bruce tried to resist, but his aching cock was already pushing up against his pants, leaking hot little drips against his belly.

 _"I can smell how much you need it,"_ Clark coaxed, and Bruce felt his cock swell harder. 

He groaned and gave in, sliding his hand down his bare stomach to cup himself. He hissed in pleasure and Clark hissed too, rustling his wings above them. Intrigued, Bruce pressed the heel of his hand against his cock. He bucked his hips in shocked pleasure when Clark moaned with him.

"Can you feel this?" He slid his hand inside his pants to torment himself with feather-light touches.

 _"Rao,"_ Clark gasped, shifting next to him. _"I do, I feel it. Do more of that."_

Bruce scratched his other hand across his chest, nails catching a tender nipple, and Clark hissed again. _"Yes, like that. You like it to hurt, a little."_ His voice was deep and throbbing in Bruce's mind and Bruce bucked his hips again, as though Clark had physically stroked him.

He pushed his pants off and fisted himself, just to feel Clark writhe from it. He was leaking all over his hand and he didn't think he could stop this, now. Not if the whole damn army came marching over the ridge.

 _"Look at you, Bruce, you're gorgeous. I wish I could touch you,"_ Clark purred, his hunger inflaming Bruce's mind. _"I've dreamt about doing things to you, for so long."_

"Oh, God. Tell me," Bruce grunted. He trailed the fingertips of his other hand down to brush teasingly at his balls. "All this time, if only I'd known. Were you squirming flat on your back, thinking of me? Or, Christ, hovering outside the manor, watching..." He felt his balls swell heavier with the thought.

 _"You make me so crazy,"_ Clark moaned, his sharp talons biting into the earth. _"Sometimes, after a League meeting, you'd be so cold and dismissive. I'd imagine what it would be like to shove you against a wall. Force you to pay attention."_

"Yes," Bruce bit out. He started fucking his fist, relishing the slippery drag of his cock. "I'd be surprised, on edge from the sudden attack." He spread his thighs to make more room for his hands and his impatient, eager hips pushed into them. 

_"I'd lean in close and trap you against the wall. You'd try to get away, but I wouldn't let you. You'd twist against me and be shocked by how hard I was for you. I'd slip a leg between your thighs to make you feel it, feel how much I wanted it."_

"Hell," Bruce swore, pumping faster. "Superman, you need to let go of me. The whole League's watching us."

 _"Let them,"_ Clark snarled, his mind a seething, hungry ache along Bruce's skin. _"I want them to see you like this. I'd rub you up against my body, force you to rock on my thigh, to get hard against me."_

"Yes, oh God," Bruce moaned. "Make me, make me want it. I'd fight you. You'd have my hands pinned so I'd bite you, fuck, so hard even you'd feel it."

_"You'd be panting, loving it, even though you'd fight it. And everyone would be watching. They'd all see you humping my thigh, your cock hard and swollen, begging me to fuck you-"_

"God, fuck me, fuck!" Bruce gasped, spurting hard on his hands and chest, making Clark bellow into the storm. The sound vibrated around Bruce and inside him, igniting his orgasm to make it explode under his skin until he was mindless with it. He sucked in a breath and twisted on his side, trying to escape the unbearable pleasure. He moaned, pressing his sticky, naked body to Clark's, even as he jerked and spasmed and hungered for more.

_"Rao, I'd never have guessed you have an exhibition kink. The things I'm going to do to you."_

"Stop, you've got to stop," Bruce croaked, his body spasming with aftershocks. "Can't take it."

_"But you will. I'll hold you down and slick you up, slide my fingers and my cock in you and make you take it-"_

"Clark!" Bruce groaned, banging his fist against Clark's side. "Enough! Please, God, enough." Clark smirked into his mind and settled his wings back around them. Bruce lay still and tried to catch his breath.

 _"I do wish I could, though. All this, and I still can't touch you."_

Bruce could only soothe his hand along Clark's ribs. "We'll find a way to change you back." He heaved a sigh, his heart finally slowing, and dropped his head on his outstretched arm.

The bright warmth in his mind that was Clark, dimmed. Bruce snapped his eyes open. "Clark?"

_"It's just... what if it goes on for too long and I forget?"_

"Forget what? Forget yourself?" Clark pushed his head closer to Bruce, and Bruce rolled to look him in the eye. 

_"Not, well... sort of. I mean, it's only been a day, maybe a little more, and I'm starting to think in terms of this body. Bruce, I think differently as a dragon. Just a little, but it's getting more obvious. And I'm worried that even if we do find a way to reverse the spell, I'll have forgotten something important about how to be me."_

"That's ridiculous. It doesn't matter if you're a Kryptonian or a dragon, or, or a whatever. You're Clark. Kal-El. You're the best person I know." Bruce sat up and fisted a hand through his hair. "Look. You said you trust me more than anyone you know. Well, I believe in you the same way. 

"Do you think I work with you because you can fly? Or shoot lasers from your eyes? No, I work with you, trust you, believe in you, because no matter how powerful you are or what body you're wearing, you've proven yourself to be incorruptibly you. You can't forget who you are. Can a mountain forget? Or the sun? You're a goddamn force of nature, Clark." 

_"No, Bruce, listen. It does matter. It used to be that I'd think of you with someone else, and I'd get sad, or jealous. Now I think of you being with someone, and I want... Bruce, I want to challenge them, to make them afraid to touch you. I feel, I don't know, a sort of angry possessiveness. You can't tell me that's normal."_

Bruce frowned in recognition. "That's... not something you should be feeling."

_"Tell me about it. And another thing. Those men, over the ridge. Before, I think they probably would have reminded me of soldiers I'd known as a war correspondent. But now I can feel their minds scrabbling and brushing up against mine. They seem half-finished, somehow. They don't remind me of Ma or Pa, or what it's like to be human. They don't remind me of me. It's like they're alien, or I am, more than ever. Am I losing my humanity?"_

"And me?" Bruce asked, stern and clear-eyed in the face of Clark's fear. "What do I feel like, to you?"

 _"You feel... like you always have. Like a knife wrapped in shadows, but at the same time true. Dependable. You feel like the man I... like my friend."_

Bruce lifted an eyebrow, but decided to ignore that mental edit. For now. "Look, we're dealing with two separate issues here. The first, I recommend you simply ignore. It's my considered opinion that as soon as you get changed back," as soon as he wasn't in mental contact with Bruce, "the problem will resolve itself. As for the other, do you want to do monstrous, unspeakable things to me? Have me for lunch? Roast me at dawn on a spit?"

 _"Don't be absurd,"_ Clark snorted, puffing air across Bruce's chest. 

"And those men, over there," Bruce continued, his voice implacable. "Do you want to kill them? Did you fight any less fiercely for them than you would have before? No," he answered, not bothering to let Clark reply. "You're experiencing something new, that's beyond anything you've known before. You might change because of it, but that happens to all of us. Every day, every new thing we see and touch changes us. We'll never be who we were before. But it doesn't mean that you should be afraid of who you are now." 

_"That... actually makes sense."_

"Of course it does."

Bruce felt the fear-spike in his brain begin to ease. It wasn't gone, but he felt Clark's usual, sly humor, well up around it. _"I lied, just a bit. I do kind of want to do unspeakable things, to you."_

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't," Bruce grunted. He rubbed himself clean with a scrap of cloth and pulled his clothes on, then buried himself up against Clark's side. "Rest. It's a long day, tomorrow."

Despite his words he didn't even try to get back to sleep, and he felt Clark, wakeful, in his mind. They lay quietly together, waiting for dawn.

 

*_*_*

Three days later Bruce was ready to go on a rampage of his own. The soldiers were wounded and travel back to the city was slow. Fine. He spent the time wandering through the straggling lines, scanning them and trying to isolate the individuals who'd been exposed to the rift's energies.

It was frustrating work. Time and again he'd triangulate and close in on a concentrated source of emissions, only to have it literally dissipate when he reached the spot. Sometimes he'd find himself at a wounded soldier's cot. Other times he'd be scanning a half-empty supply cart or an empty patch of ground. Then the trail would be gone, leaving a general cloud of particles but no clues.

This was just a puzzle, though, like any he was used to working. He had a few suspicions and if this were the extent of it, he knew he wouldn't be in nearly such a temper. 

The problem was Clark. Or rather, the soldier's reactions to him. At first, Clark had walked sedately alongside the men, keeping a polite distance from the horses. Bruce marked his position but was too busy tracking down the rift energies to pay much attention. By the second day, though, Clark was hanging further back from the army, and by the third...

Bruce emerged about mid-afternoon, hot, frustrated, and hungry, only to find Clark was nowhere in sight. He frowned and looked up, expecting to see him soaring above them, enjoying the sun on his wings.

Nothing.

Which was ridiculous. Clark was enormous. How the hell could he go and lose himself? Bruce frowned. He wasn't about to call after Clark like a lost child. And honestly, he wasn't worried. Just... aware that things weren't the way they should be. It was entirely reasonable to wonder where Clark had gone. After all, they were in a strange dimension with unknown dangers. And Clark was currently suffering under a curse, the full extent of which they might not have realized. 

Really, it was completely irresponsible of Clark to disappear like this. Never mind how he'd managed it. What if he were in trouble? How was he supposed to help him, if Clark didn't advise him of his movements? Was something keeping him from alerting Bruce? What if-

A faint whiff of amusement brushed his mind and Bruce spun, scanning the nearby hills. "Where are you, you idiot?" Bruce muttered. A piece of shadow detached itself from the hills and there was Clark, hiding in plain sight.

"What are you doing?" he snapped, ignoring the looks he was getting. "Get over here."

_"...I'd prefer not to."_

Bruce scowled and strode towards him. "I'm not walking all the way over there. What's gotten into you?"

Clark met him a good dozen yards from the convoy, but his whole body radiated hesitation and Bruce could hardly feel him in his head. "Damn it, we talked about keeping secrets. What's going on?"

_"We haven't actually had that talk. And in all fairness, considering your history-"_

"We're not talking about me," Bruce interrupted. "I'm not the one who was transformed into a dragon the size of a bus. If there's a problem, I need to be informed. Tell me what's going on."

_"Really, it's nothing that-"_

"Wrong. It's clearly something-"

_"No, look, I just needed some time to-"_

"To what? Make me think you'd been attacked or-"

Clark huffed irritably, and behind them a dozen soldiers broke rank and drew their weapons. Comprehension sizzled across Bruce's brain, and he turned to stare at Clark. "This had better not be about-"

_"It's not! Listen, you know I like alone time. I don't always like being stared at-"_

"It is about them. You're not going to accidentally swallow anyone or step on them."

_"No, I know. I just heard some things, that's all. And besides, that's not-"_

"Heard things?" Bruce interrupted, deadly calm. "Heard what things?" He narrowed his eyes and looked over his shoulder. The soldiers paled under his glare. A few swallowed convulsively, then were pushed from behind into formation.

_"You shouldn't do that," Clark said, sounding subdued. "It just makes them more afraid."_

"Fear is important," Bruce said, still glaring at the passing soldiers. "It keeps you alive." To a man, none of the passing army would meet his eyes, now.

_"They're just blowing off steam. And besides, you know that people are afraid of things they don't understand. You can't just... look. It's fine for you. No one questions your right to be angry, or frustrated, or to have an honest-to-God bad day. But this is how my life is. Always. If I'd decided to operate like that as Superman, they would have tried to, um, subdue me."_

"Kill you, you mean." Visions of meta-human armies attacking Superman flashed before him. He bowed his head. "Humans are stupid and cruel when we're afraid. So you heard the soldiers... what? Threatening you? And you disappeared."

_"I can't exactly put on glasses and a baggy shirt, right now, to seem more normal. So yeah, I thought it'd be good to just..." he motioned with a fore-claw at the hills._

"I didn't know." Bruce raked his fingernails across his scalp. "I should have been paying attention, but I was too focused-"

_"Hey, it's not your fault. You're not responsible for what anyone thinks, and besides, that's not even-"_

"Not even my job?" Bruce rounded on him. "You're not just my teammate, Clark. You're my friend! Even without... the rest of it," he waved his hand, "even without that, it's my job to have your back. And I know it doesn't look like it, but in some ways you're even more vulnerable now than you would be under a red sun. It's my job, my responsibility-"

_"Bruce," Clark interrupted, thumping him on the back with his tail. "Stop beating yourself up and listen! That's not why I was over there. I wasn't hiding-"_

"You were-" 

_"Not because of that."_ Bruce lifted an eyebrow. _"Alright, fine. Not just because of that. I'm..."_

Bruce lifted the other one, waiting.

Clark ducked his head. He looked about ready to curl up and hide under a wing. _"It's the horses."_

Bruce blinked, ran that sentence twice, and blinked again. "The horses were... threatening you?"

 _"Bruce,"_ Clark moaned, embarrassment coloring his voice. _"Look. Fighting those zombies, breathing all that fire, it took a lot of energy. And now it's been days and days, and I..." he trailed off._

All at once, Bruce got it. He pressed his gloved fingers against his lips, smothering a smile. 

_"Shut up,"_ Clark growled.

"I didn't say anything."

_"You 'don't say anything' very loudly."_

Bruce tried to suppress his amusement. "You could have just said that you were hungry."

 _"I tried!"_ Clark practically wailed. 

"Those poor horses," Bruce said, staring innocently off into space. 

_"Forget it. I'm never telling you anything, ever again. I'd rather die of starvation first."_

"Oh, stop being so dramatic," Bruce chided him, not quite able to smear the smile off his face.

_"Me? You're the one who thought I was bemoaning my outcast state-"_

"You were!"

_"I was trying not to cause an inter-dimensional incident by-"_

"Eating the prince's horses?"

 _"Go to hell, Bruce,"_ Clark glared at him, and Bruce, delighted, threw his head back and laughed.

_"Sometimes, you're very odd, you know."_

"I love you, too," Bruce chuckled. Then he froze, eyes wide, and replayed that last sentence. Clark was stock-still next to him, and Bruce refused to look at him, staring intently at the retreating convoy. 

"I'd imagine from what the men were eating," Bruce ventured after an eternity, "that there's some kind of, erm, wild game. Around." He fidgeted with a glove, then forced his hands to stillness.

 _"Bruce,"_ Clark said. Just his name, but Bruce felt Clark's emotions, held back for so long, welling up around it. The pure, undeniable depth of his regard was almost too much and Bruce scrabbled back from that brink. 

"Stop. I can't-" he didn't know what he couldn't. Just that something was cracking open in the very darkest basement of his mind, and his sense of self shuddered with every break in the stone.

 _"Oh, Bruce."_ And now it was wryly amused. Infinitely patient. _"Why don't you catch up with the rest of them."_ He nodded at the army. _"I'm going to look for some take-out."_

Bruce shaded his eyes to watch as Clark leaped into the air, spiraling higher and higher above him. Something sharp and hungry inside him yearned to be up there. Clark had said his name, and now it almost seemed like an invitation. An offer to take his hand and step up, kick away from the gravity of pain and loss, from his past that chained him down, and fly.

"Ridiculous," he breathed. No one who'd seen as much, and lost as much, as Bruce could ever forget it. His pain made him who he was. Driven. Grounded in reality.

Grounded.

He cast his eyes skyward to watch a man who'd lost his entire planet, his entire race, ride the winds. 

Bruce took a deep breath and deliberately put all of that on the back burner. For now he had some issues to discuss with Prince James.

*_*_*

It was days later and he was riding constantly with Clark. Now that he was listening for it he didn't know how he'd missed it; hearing the soldiers bragging to each other about how they could kill Clark. It became a game of one-upmanship, something to pass the time while they marched, or while they drank over their dying comrades. One would brag that with only a dozen men he could carve "that flying demon's" heart out. A second would boast that he could do it with only five. 

Bruce clenched his jaw and asked, in icy, precise words, for James to kindly take his men in hand. But, for all that Clark had been instrumental in saving their lives, the people of this world had seen enough monsters to make them wary, even from one as helpful as Clark. James said that he'd speak to his men, but Bruce was working on a theory and privately suspected that wasn't going to happen.

Bruce seethed with anger, but tried to control it. Besides the fact that he was trying to stay in James' good graces, in order to continue investigating the rift particles, he realized that he was the only conduit Clark had for human expression. So he bit back angry words again and again, to keep that fragile link open.

Then, two days march from the city gates, Bruce heard a man talking about bringing Clark's wings home to his woman to make curtains from them. Bruce heard something snap in his mind, and felt the absolute calm of rage seep into his bones. He heard Clark saying something, but it felt distant. Inaudible. 

The man was crouched in front of his tiny fire, heating his rations. Bruce could feel the hundreds of vulnerable points on his body, as though piano wire ran taut between them. Bruce would start with the cervical spine at the base of the neck. Paralyze him, but not kill him. He could live forever, unable to move as much as a finger while Bruce went on to break every bone that he would never need again. 

His friend sitting across the fire might object. If he intervened with a weapon, Bruce would shatter his pelvis, dislocate his right arm, and yes, blind him. Eyes made excellent statements, a compelling demonstration. He could-

Clark's scream shocked him out of his reverie and he whirled to find him surrounded by armed soldiers, a bloody spear in his left shoulder. "Get away from him," Bruce snarled, reaching for his utility belt. The soldiers were wrong, so terribly mistaken. The monster wasn't the dragon they had at spear-point. He was behind them, and he would break them, crush them, show them how truly merciless-

_"Bruce! What the hell is wrong with you! You can't attack these men, they're scared! They're not trying to hurt me.""It was a mistake. The idiot tripped on his own spear and stabbed me with it. I was coming to stop you and we surprised each other. You wouldn't listen!"_

Bruce felt reason crash down onto him. He'd caused this chain of events. In his rage he'd blocked out Clark, who'd moved in to stop him from hurting the soldiers. The rest of the soldiers reacted, threatening Clark.

Christ. He'd nearly killed Clark. He might as well have picked up that spear and stabbed him, himself.

The men were still threatening Clark, and rather than menace them in return he slowly lowered himself to the ground. He folded his wings flat against his body and put his head down, utterly defenseless. Then he started crooning a soft, rumbling melody. Bruce recognized it as one of the soldier's drinking songs.

The soldiers gradually lowered their weapons. Clark kept humming, and, after a minute, a few of the men even started to sing along. They continued to relax, slapping each other's shoulders and staring at Clark. Finally, one young man with blood on his arm walked with shaking steps up to Clark and tugged his weapon free. The tune hiccuped, and Bruce felt the slash of pain that Clark refused to show.

The men started laughing, and, one by one, they all laid daring hands on the tame monster.

"I think, in the future, you might wish to ride with your beast. To keep him from coming in search of you."

Bruce nodded once to acknowledge prince James' approach. "Yes," he rasped. "Best for all of us, I think, that I stay away from your men." And so, he rode.

That night, curled up in Clark's heat, he dreamed. He was walking through a flickering dreamscape that looked like Gotham, but somehow wasn't. It was like seeing his city through a strange set of eyes - familiar things grabbed his attention in new, almost alien ways. Signs that he knew by heart seemed to carry strange meanings. It was his city, but not.

He walked the deserted streets, turned a corner into what should've been mid-town, only to find himself on the waterfront. A man sat on a bench, facing the harbor, and Bruce would have known that silhouette anywhere. Suddenly the slightly alien perspective made a lot more sense.

"Are you ready to talk about it, yet?" Clark asked, breaking into Bruce's thoughts. "I can hear you brooding. Again."

"There's nothing to talk about." Bruce wandered over to the bench and sat next to him, just close enough to rub shoulders.

"Yes, there is. If there wasn't, you'd never have let me in here." He didn't turn to face him and Bruce allowed himself to admire Clark's profile. 

"Maybe this isn't really you. How do I know you're not part of my dream?"

Clark quirked a smile. "Why, do I show up in your dreams a lot?"

Bruce smirked back. "Usually you're wearing a lot less."

He thought Clark might be embarrassed. Instead, he slid a sly, inviting look towards Bruce. "I feel real, but I guess I would, either way. What do you think?" He ran teasing fingertips along the back of Bruce's hand. Bruce gasped as the tickling pleasure made his palms sweat and his dick swell. "I do love playing with your fingers," Clark murmured.

"I can't believe, all this time, you've been groping me in public," Bruce muttered, brushing his fingers between Clark's. 

Clark grinned. "See? Only the real me would know that. Even more, I know how much you want this while everyone watches. I bet I could get you off like this, right in front of everyone, and they'd never know." He raised Bruce's fingers to his mouth and sucked a fingertip between his sinfully full lips.

"Not... that's not empirical evidence," Bruce husked as his hips shifted eagerly. He lifted an eyebrow in challenge.

Never let it be said that Clark wouldn't rise to the occasion. He grinned his boyish, gorgeous grin, and pulled Bruce's hand lower.

Bruce's eyebrows flew up. "That's... still not empirically admissible. But it is, erm, impressive." He flexed his fingers across Clark's groin, loving the feel of Clark's dick under his palm.

"Don't think that I'm going to let you avoid the issue," Clark said, even as he slid down on the bench and spread his thighs invitingly. "And does it matter if it's really me? If I'm part of your subconscious, then you're refusing to share information with yourself. Not very useful, that." His hard, demanding cock throbbed under Bruce's hand.

"Oh, I can think of a number of uses to put you to." He leered at Clark and felt a surge of affection as Clark grinned and closed his eyes. 

"Now you're just trying to distract me," Clark protested. But he kept grinning, and bucked his hips as he said it.

"Maybe," Bruce allowed.

A tremor rumbled through the cityscape around them, and Bruce frowned. "What was that?"

Clark frowned, too, and sat up. "I'm not sure, but I think it's got to do with whatever you've been hiding." In answer, a bigger tremor shook the buildings around them. "You've got a very dramatic subconscious," Clark teased, but there was worry in his eyes. 

"I'm telling you, there's nothing-" 

A huge tremor shook them, heaving earth and water around them. Bruce almost fell off the bench.

"I can feel whatever it is, you know," Clark said, after it passed. He worried at his hands in his lap. "It kills me that you won't trust me with it. You were the one who said no more secrets." Another tremor rumbled around them.

"Hell," Bruce sighed, resigned to losing this battle, too. Whether Clark was real or imagined, it seemed, didn't matter; there was no way Bruce was winning this. Honestly, he didn't know why he fought these rear-guard actions anymore. Pride, probably.

"Today, with the guards," he admitted, "I lost control. I got emotional, lost sight of our mission objective and nearly got us both killed. It won't happen again, end of subject."

He saw Clark hesitate, then, "I've been wondering if, maybe, it wasn't all you."

Bruce frowned and pushed his shoulder against Clark's. "Explain."

"I've never known you to react like that before." Clark's voice was deadly serious. "Since I've been cursed, I know that I react more strongly to some things, like you and the soldiers. What if, I mean, you're the only one who can hear me. What if something's starting to leak through? Maybe I'm eroding away something inside of you, too."

Guilt bit hard at him, and Bruce grimaced. He thought he'd been protecting Clark by keeping this from - no. Enough denials. He'd been protecting himself and Clark had, as usual, borne the brunt of it.

"This had better be the real you, sitting here, so I don't have to go through this twice." He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have been keeping something from you. It's been selfish but I thought I could handle it without having to..." he sighed. "Trust me, this wasn't your fault. You may never have seen me react like that, but that doesn't mean it hasn't happened before."

Clark turned to look at him. Instead of the familiar blue, a pair of yellow, slit-pupiled eyes stared out from his face. Bruce knew he was responsible for this, too, and cradled his hand to Clark's face. He stroked his thumb along Clark's cheekbone, refusing to flinch from the dragon's eyes. 

"I never wanted you to see this part of me. But I won't let you think that you're responsible for the ugliness in my soul. Like I said, I've felt that sort of rage before. I feel it every time I face my parents' killer."

"Joker," Clark breathed.

"Yes. And that's not all. I felt it when Nightwing almost died. When Jason was killed. When Tim..." he trailed off, and closed his eyes. "I feel it, Clark, when the people I care about are being threatened."

A sharp retort from the ground under them sent stones flying. "It's not your fault," Bruce said, as the ground buckled and heaved beneath them. He opened his eyes and stared into Clark's, holding on as Gotham began crashing around them. "That possessive anger you talked about, Clark? It's not yours. It's mine. You're feeling it because that's how I feel about you, all the time." 

Clark blinked and his eyes were blue again. Bruce knew his own, now, were slit-pupiled and alien. He held Clark tighter as the ground beneath their feet cracked open into a yawning crevasse. "I'd understand if you didn't want-"

He was stopped by Clark's smile, quiet and sincere and heartbreakingly gorgeous. "Bruce," he shook his head. "My Bruce." And he touched his lips to Bruce's, just the barest hint of a kiss, before the ground tore itself apart and swallowed them.

"Son of a bitch!" Bruce swore, shooting upright. 

Clark grumbled and slid one great, blue eye open. _"The first time in days I can actually touch you, and you get me worked up and then drop us in a gaping hole in your subconscious._

"That was completely your fault," Bruce argued, rubbing his hand over his face.

 _"Not sure the quake had anything to do with me,"_ Clark yawned, exposing a truly impressive number of teeth. _"It's your secrets breaking down the doors in there."_

"I was't talking about the quake, and of course, it's you," Bruce muttered, settling back down. "There's no one else who causes disaster-level upheavals in my mind."

_"I think I'm flattered."_

"Look. I'm not saying this wasn't a priority before, but now I really mean it. We've got to get you changed back before you completely rearrange the landscape in my head. And until we do, could you please stop demolishing my city?" 

_"I promise to be good,"_ Clark chuckled, settling back down to sleep. _"But I still think you're giving me too much credit."_

Bruce just shook his head. Clark was in his head, surrounding his body, and stealing into his dreams. He brought change and upheaval into Bruce's life in the same powerful, unconscious way the sun brought life to the planet. He truly was a force of nature, and the telepathy just made it worse. The worst of it was that Clark had no idea what he did to him. He sighed and closed his eyes, determined to get a few hours rest before dawn.

*_*_*

Thanks to the jumble in his mind, Bruce didn't trust himself any closer to the soldiers than he had to be. He rode with Clark, barely tolerating the snail's pace they were forced to keep. He was brooding and surly by turns, chafing at the delay in their mission and unable to stop poking at the painful, overturned places in his mind. By the time the city gates came into view his moods had even started to wear on Clark's good humor.

The gates were massive. Stone slabs, hundreds of feet tall, were hinged against walls that looked to have been carved from the mountain itself. It would have been a miraculous feet of engineering, but Bruce suspected magic, instead.

Now that they were close, Bruce pulled out the 'counter and scanned the area. "There's a definite rise in ambient rift particles, comparable to the levels you and I are shedding. I can't be sure that all eight are here, not till we get closer. But-"

 _"Alert the media,"_ Clark sneered. _"The great Batman finally admits that he doesn't know everything."_

His tone was so jarring that Bruce almost dropped the 'counter. "What the hell is your problem?" He'd never heard Clark talk like that to anyone.

 _"Problem? What would I be upset about?"_ Clark mantled his wings, his hackles rising. His voice in Bruce's mind was sharp and jagged and completely unlike him. _"No, you know? I am upset. I'm tired of being treated like your beast of burden. I'm sick of being dismissed or ignored. You lecture me about keeping secrets but can't stand to share your own. You, I-"_

Clark stopped moving, his mind shivering with anger. He dug his talons into the ground and bent his head, huffing super-heated air at the grass under him. _"Bruce, I think there's something wrong with me."_

Bruce thought furiously. "When did it start?"

_"What fucking difference does that-"_

"Clark! Tell me when this started." 

Clark's sides heaved, and thin trickles of flames actually leaked around his mouth. _"It's been building for days. It gets worse all the time."_

"And the closer we got to the city?"

_"The more I feel it. All these people with their rotting smells and their strange, half-finished little minds. I can't take it. I can't go in there. I'm going to hurt someone, I swear I will."_

Bruce slung himself out of the harness and leaped from Clark's shoulder, twisting mid-air to land in front of him. "Look at me."

 _"Bruce!"_ Alarm flashed through the rage, like yellow lightning against the red mist in his mind. Bruce grabbed Clark's muzzle with both hands, putting himself directly in harm's way. 

"If you don't get control, you're going to kill me." He felt utterly calm. For the first time in days he was completely certain of himself. He felt Clark's panic build, and the instant before he reared his head, Bruce threw himself forward and locked his arms around Clark's muzzle "You can't run from this," he growled. "You have to face it."

Clark froze, fear of hurting Bruce warring with the building rage. He shook under Bruce's hold and Bruce felt him slipping, losing ground in his own mind. "I trust you," he said, resting his forehead against Clark's. "I trust you."

Clark shuddered all over, then dropped, exhausted, to the ground. The rage trickled out of him like water. He puffed small breaths of air, cooling his lungs, even as his skin radiated off the excess heat. Bruce was slick with sweat and had first degree burns all up and down his arms. He'd never felt better.

"You good?" he asked, turning his head to survey the army. 

_"Better,"_ Clark agreed. _"Rao, that was dangerous, Bruce."_

"Not really," he said, unlocking his joints and rubbing a soothing hand along Clark's cheek. "I told you, I trust you."

 _"You're not always right,"_ Clark sighed, too exhausted to lift his head. 

"No, I'm not," he agreed. "Stop trying to be diplomatic. I can feel you biting your tongue."

_"Just never thought I'd hear you admit it."_

"Oh, I've made mistakes," Bruce said, still staring at the gates where James was greeting the sentries. "Though trusting you has never been one of them."

_"I'm just going to lie here and pass out. Wake me up when you're ready to share with the rest of the class."_

"It's an obvious pattern," Bruce muttered, half to himself. "Your reactions to the men as a group, but not the individual soldiers. The disappearing radiation traces. And now this, here at the city. It's just that in your current state you're vastly more sensitive to it."

He felt Clark's mind pick up the threads and stitch them together. Clark lifted his head, sliding Bruce to the ground, and stared at the disappearing convoy. _"You think this has something to do with the rift?"_

"It's got everything to do with it. If I hadn't been so distracted I'd have put it together sooner. I wonder what they'd have done to keep me away from the camp, if I hadn't given them an opening?"

_"Keep you away? Bruce, you're not making sense. James gave you permission to scan his men."_

"Precisely. So ask yourself, Clark, what changed? And when did it change? And how?"

_"If you're waiting for me to tell you how impressively mysterious you are, you're going to be talking to yourself for a long time."_

Bruce rolled his eyes and climbed back onto Clark's shoulders. "Think about it, Kent. We know that someone's stealing magic from the surrounding areas. To what purpose? It's enough energy to cause enormous, inter-dimensional upheavals. What do you think takes that kind of energy?"

Bruce felt the pieces slot together in Clark's head. He turned to stare at Bruce in shock. _"They wouldn't."_

"Obviously, they are. In my experience, nothing takes as much magical energy, and causes as much disruption, as raising the dead. I started to suspect what was happening when you talked about feeling "half-finished" minds that didn't seem human."

_"If you're right, then the zombies that we fought-"_

"-weren't a natural occult phenomena. Correct. I suspect it was nothing less than an attempted military coup from forces inside this city. James didn't just happen across that hoard; he was sent out by his superiors to put it down. There must be a faction splitting away from the main political party.

_"They're raising their own dead back to life as zombies? That's horrifying."_

"And I'd bet a great deal that he didn't know his men were going to be next in line. If he had, he'd have worked harder to keep me away. The disappearing radiation traces-"

_"-were magic users, covered in rift particles, suddenly transporting in and out of the camp. They must have been getting the dying men ready for the conversion. That feeling of wrongness, when we found the zombie hoard, was the same that I felt later. When I thought I was losing it."_

"Yes. You protected the individual soldiers, the living men, as you always would. But the zombies in the medical tents started to set you off as they rose. And if the feeling is worse the closer we get to the city..." Bruce trailed off, and they both stared at the gates. 

_"I wonder if those are to keep things out..."_

"... or in," Bruce finished. "I wonder where they're keeping them all."

_"There must be thousands of zombies in there. There just aren't that many people on this planet. They must be raising every half-intact corpse they can find. Why would they need an army like that?"_

"They wouldn't," Bruce replied, his voice grim. "Not on this world. At first I thought the rift was an accident; a side-effect from stealing the weather magic. Now I suspect it was their first attempt to create a bridge. Something they can send their undead army through to take over other worlds, without endangering themselves.

_"If all of that's true," Clark mused, sitting on his haunches and watching the army disappear through the gates, "and there's military infighting happening, it's not just our missing people in trouble. The regular people inside that city are in danger, too."_

"It's bigger than that. If we're right, then the rest of this world, as well as our own, could be under attack. We've got to get inside those gates and destroy whatever they're using to steal the magic. But once we're in there-"

 _"We'll be trapped and surrounded,"_ Clark finished for him. _"No. I've got a better idea."_

*_*_*

Bruce slid from shadow to shadow, enjoying the feel of once again being wrapped in darkness. He vaulted over a low, stone wall and melted invisibly on the other side. The 'counter showed he was closing on his target, and he thrilled in the hunt. 

The night air was warm, and his muscles responded instantly to his every demand. His skin and clothes were slick in the drenching rain. He used the storm as cover, to slip unseen through the sentries. It would be perfect, if only-

No. He couldn't let himself go there. He had his task and Clark had his own. Clark was depending on him to complete his mission, and Bruce would have to trust that Clark would meet him after.

Oh, but Bruce had hated letting Clark fly out of sight. Even worse, he couldn't stand the itchy, barren feeling in his mind where Clark's thoughts should be. It was absurd. He'd spent his entire life walling himself up in his isolation, and now he felt off-balance in his own skull. He kept reaching for the warmth of Clark's mind, only to find a chilly emptiness.

If this was a foreshadowing of things to come, he wasn't sure what he'd do. He knew himself to be a hard man; difficult to know, even more difficult to love. To protect himself, he'd tried to convince himself that Clark would, inevitably, move on. 

But if only a few hours without Clark reduced him to this, then it might be time to rethink that. He should have known that he couldn't go back to the way things had been. Clark may have been the one transformed on the outside, but it was Bruce who was becoming unrecognizable from within.

He bit his lip, using the pain to bring himself back to the present. If he wanted to convince Clark to keep coming back, he should probably have something to show for it.

Bruce fastened the 'counter to his utility belt and inspected the door. At first glance it seemed to be barred with only a heavy, metal crosspiece. But he knew enough to look closer, and skimmed his fingertips along the underside. Sure enough, he felt runes etched into the bar. There was a nasty magical trap waiting for anyone stupid enough to unlock it without disarming the spell.

He ghosted to the side of the building and swarmed up the wall. The first story windows were likewise protected, but the second story was clear. Bruce snorted his contempt. With incompetence like this, it was no wonder they were failing to keep their little cabal together. With a month and a minimum of effort, he could have the whole lot of them ripping themselves to disorganized chaos. If this were Gotham-

But it wasn't. The best thing he could do for this city was to stay focused and complete his mission. He froze, motionless, as a sentry walked directly under him, then slid through the window. People rarely looked up, especially in the rain. Voices from the first floor echoed up the stairs and he crept over, noiselessly, to listen.

"How much longer do we keep them? My entire family doesn't eat this well."

"Patience. The counsel needs every bit of information we can squeeze from the outworlders. They'll run dry soon enough. Then we can have a bit of fun with them."

"The zombie pit," the first agreed, laughing. 

Disgusting. Bruce curled his lip and reached out to Clark to share his- 

Damn it. 

Not much longer now. He curled his gloved fist around a flashbang and squeezed until his knuckles ached. The mission. Concentrate on the mission.

He popped the safety and flowed down the stairs. "Gentlemen," he sneered, and triggered the stun grenade.

"By the hells!" they shouted, rolling and puking on the ground. 

"That's the fluid in your inner ears being disrupted," he said, strolling between them. 

"What manner of sorcerer are you?" one of them asked, blind and half deaf from the concussive force. Bruce bared his teeth at them.

"I'm your worst nightmare." It was these men, and others like them, who were responsible for this entire mess. He proceeded to teach them, very pointedly, why pissing off the Dark Knight was not a good idea.

Minutes later he pried open the trap-door in the floor. He paused to cut two holes in a piece of cloth for a make-shift cowl, then proceeded down. The cellar was musty and dark, with skittering creatures living in the corners. Lovely.

"We heard a noise," a woman said, huddled back against the wall. A man got up and stood protectively in front of the others. "I don't care what you want, I'm not letting you take my Molly again."

There were eight of them: dirty, scared, and lost. Bruce held out his hands. "It's alright, I'm here to get you home. I'm Batman."

"What? That nut-job from Gotham? No way."

"It's gotta be him," a teen said from the back. "Nobody here would even know about him."

"Then where's his, you know, his ears? And the cape?" the first man asked, waving at his head.

Bruce clenched his teeth. Talking to people was Clark's job. The sooner they could rescue these people and get Clark back to his old self, the better.

"I am Batman," he ground out, "and if you'd like to get home, then follow me." They were silent for a beat, then as one they scrambled to their feet.

"But there's men with swords. And Jenny says she saw a zombie guarding the door," a young woman said. "But I think she was just scared. There aren't really zombies, right?" She trailed off and Bruce simply looked at her. Anything he said would only scare her worse. She didn't need-

He glanced up at the ceiling. It was like water flowing back into a dry well, or like taking a deep breath into starved lungs. "Follow me," he said, looking back at the group. "Our ride's here."

He thought about trying to keep them quiet, but if the flashbang hadn't brought the other sentries, then nothing short of a fire would get their attention. Besides, the guards were about to have a very big distraction.

He led them up to the fourth story, then up through the attic and onto the roof. One of the women screamed, and Bruce lifted his head and grinned. "You're late."

 _"They took a little convincing,"_ Clark laughed. He hovered in the air above the building, his huge wings beating the air. Floating around him, each with a hand on the flight harness, were the six mages from the first city. The ones who'd cursed him.

"Our apologies, Dark One," the old woman said, floating down to the roof. "It seems that we were overhasty in exacting our retribution. Your companion is very fair of speech, whatever his outward seeming. With our magic to help us understand him, he showed us that our goals were one and the same."

The huge, hovering dragon finally drew attention from the sentries, and Bruce uncapped and dropped a few flashbangs on them. He turned back to woman, cutting the chit-chat short.

"The plan was for him to lead you here, following my mental footprint. We thought the prisoners would be kept close to the magic user's base of operations, but so far I haven't seen evidence of that."

"Not to worry," the wizened old man said, letting go of the harness and floating free. "From here we're close enough to sense the power ourselves. Come, my brothers and sisters. It's time to return the stolen magic to its rightful path."

"Wait," Bruce growled, grabbing the woman's arm. "What about him?" He jerked his chin at Clark, still patiently hovering above them. 

She smiled, and gave Bruce a look that went straight through him. The only other person who'd ever looked at him like that was Alfred. "Yes, of course," she said. For some reason she made Bruce want to stand up straighter. He resisted and stared her in the eyes. She winked at him.

"I understand that we've also damaged your Way home," she said. "Your rune stone, if you please." 

_"It's okay, Bruce. Esmir is a good woman. I trust her."_

Bruce wanted to argue the point, but they were out of time. He cast an eye around the building. There were guards running from every corner of the city, and the eight civilians were huddled, terrified, on the roof. He slid the disc out of his boot and handed it to Esmir. She whispered over it and the runes glowed in her hands.

"When you step into your own world," she said, handing it back, "your companion will again inhabit his original form. Farewell, and thank you."

The six of them floated away. Bruce scowled, gripping the rune stone in a fist. "They could have helped with the guards."

 _"Bruce, I'm too heavy. I can't land on the roof,"_ Clark said, the strain from hovering for so long starting to tell. _"I'll get as close as I can and the civilians are going to have to jump onto my back."_

This was the part of the plan that Bruce truly hated. "They'll never do it. Look, just clear the area, and we'll make a run for it."

"Who are you talking to?" one of the men shouted. Bruce ground his teeth in frustration. 

_"Look at them, Bruce. They've been kept in that room for over a week. They were limping just walking on the roof. You know this is the only way. Now, hurry up. My wings are getting tired."_

Bruce bit back an angry reply and turned to the civilians. "Listen up. That dragon is your only way out of here. He's going to hold very still while you use those straps on his back to hold on. Then he'll carry all of you out of the city. Anyone who doesn't like it can deal with them." He pointed to the guards below. Some of them were starting to nock arrows to their bows. Bruce let fly with a few batarangs, knocking them out.

"Last chance," he growled, and they all scrambled towards Clark. 

_"You too,"_ Clark said. He had one fore-claw balanced on the roof, and the civilians climbed over his leg and up to his shoulders. He was straining to stay steady as they wrapped the safety harness around themselves, using every available strap to hold on.

"You can barely stay in the air with their combined weight," Bruce said, tucking the rune back into his boot. "Get them out of here. I'll meet you outside the gates."

He knew Clark wanted to object, but he could feel him tiring through the link. "Just go, damn it."

 _"I'm coming back for you,"_ Clark promised. With a huge effort he lifted up, the terrified civilians clinging to his back. Bruce spared a second to watch, just to make sure that they'd make it. He breathed out when Clark leveled off, and turned his attention to more pressing matters.

He ducked as an arrow thunked into the wood next to him. Now that the roof was empty he could hear guards taking axes to the building's door. He grimaced and threw himself flat. This wasn't going to end well.

The door splintered and gave way, and Bruce held on as the entire building shook. The men screamed as the locking ward broke. He peered over the edge to see them rolling on the ground, covered in greenish fire. The building shook again and the roof began tilting to one side. Time to go.

He briefly wished for his tension line, which was even now wrapped around a civilian's waist, as he crouched and leaped for the nearest rooftop. If any of the guards had been ready with an arrow, it could have gone badly. As it was he nearly missed and had to scramble to keep from plummeting down. 

_"Bruce!"_ Clark shouted, and his mind filled with the shape of Clark's worry. He smiled and pulled himself over the ledge. 

"I'm fine, Clark. I've been jumping off rooftops without your help for a while now." He rolled to his feet and started running, getting good momentum for his next leap.

_"We've just reached the rendezvous point. I'm having trouble getting them to stay put. You could have taken a minute to brief them instead of yelling at them."_

"They're lucky I let them anywhere near you," Bruce snarled, leaping dozens of feet onto the next building. Thinking of all the people that had been touching Clark tonight, flying with him, made a dark, possessive anger curdle in his gut. He yelled as he took his next jump, wishing he had something to hit.

 _"Crap,"_ Clark swore, and Bruce missed a step. _"We've got a problem."_

"Just the one?" He looked ahead at the courtyard coming up. He was running out of rooftops.

_"One of the civilians was tangled up in the harness. Another one took a knife to it and the whole thing came off. I can't fly you out of there."_

Bruce kept running, trying to stay ahead of the mob on the ground. "Come get me," he grunted.

_"Of course I'm coming to get you. I'm almost there. I just can't DO anything once I am."_

"Going to jump. Be ready to catch me."

_"Bruce! Did you hear me? The harness is gone. I can't keep you on my back."_

Almost there. "Don't need a safety net to fly with you. Trust you." He took the last two steps and launched himself into the air. There was no building to land on, no tension line to catch himself with. He was in free fall, the ground a lethal distance below.

He closed his eyes, breathed out, and felt Clark snatch him out of the air. _"Gotcha!"_

"Of course you do." Clark's huge fore-claw gripped him around the middle. He curled his limb to cradle Bruce against him, and Bruce could feel Clark's massive chest heaving as they flew through the storm. He rested his head against the scales, his whole body shaking with the force of Clark's heartbeat. "You were right. Wasn't hard at all. Just had to jump."

_"We're almost back to the rendezvous point. And right about what? What are you talking about?"_

"Flying without wings," Bruce said. "Never mind, I'll explain later. Oh hell, where do they think they're going?"

_"I told you I was having trouble getting them to stay put. I think they're trying to find shelter from the rain."_

A huge explosion detonated behind them. Bruce tried to lean around Clark's body, but he just gripped him more tightly. "Hold still, this is going to get bumpy." Ripples of multicolored light bloomed outward from the city. They buffeted Clark's wings, making him falter mid-flight. Clark fought against the magic, keeping aloft through pure force of will.

"I'd guess that was our friends, taking care of business."

_"I'm going to land fast and hard, Bruce, but with only three feet..."_

"It's fine, Clark." He felt utterly calm. "Just try not to squash the civilians."

 _"Ha, ha. You're a riot."_ He felt the strain in Clark's voice, and breathed deeply to relax his spine. _"Impact in five."_

"I trust you," he whispered. He was aware of Clark's heartbeat, the feel of him in his mind, the heat of his body around him. If he had to die today, this was a good way to go.

He heard the snap-crunch of bones and felt the searing pain as they hit. Bruce's peace evaporated as he realized that Clark had chosen to land on his side, breaking a wing to spare him. Clark's scream echoed in the night, and Bruce ground his teeth, helpless to stop his pain. They slid across the muddy ground, then finally, came to a stop.

"Talk to me," he growled. "I'm here, Clark. You did good. No one was hurt. You're incredible, do you know that?" he heard himself saying. It hardly mattered what came out of his mouth, he just needed Clark to know that he wasn't alone, that they were going to be fine, that no matter what, Bruce was going to be here.

Clark shivered in pain and finally loosened his grip. Bruce slithered to the ground, keeping his hands on Clark the whole way up his neck to his head. "I'm here," he whispered, pressing himself against Clark. "Open your eyes, stay with me. We're almost home, now. Focus on my voice. Look at me."

Clark's eyes were dark from the pain, almost black. _"Think... think we have to round them up. I think I scared-"_ he stopped, his broken bones sending spasms of agony through him.

"No, we don't," Bruce said. "Look." Clark opened his eyes to see the civilians clinging to each other, walking slowly towards them. "They know you're hurt. You helped them, so now they're coming to help you. You can't even talk to them and you bring the best out in people. Christ, how did I ever get so lucky?"

 _"Gonna record all this, play it back for you. Later."_ Clark gasped. 

"No, you're not," Bruce soothed, waving the civilians closer. "You're too good for that. Blackmail's my area, not yours."

 _"Shut up and trigger the rune, already,"_ Clark shivered, nudging him in the chest. _"I want to go home."_

Bruce nodded to the eight people around them. "Stay close. I don't know how long the portal will last. Once it opens, get through as fast as you can. We'll be right behind you."

He pulled the disc out of his boot. "How are we supposed to activate it?"

_"Think about home. Hold the thought of it in your mind, then push it into the rune."_

Bruce paused. "You realize that if I do this, we're going to end up in Gotham."

_"S'okay. They can take a bus."_

Bruce smothered a grin and held the stone in his open hand. Home. Clark back in his own body. Gotham, light and dark, cold and lovely by turns. Home. The rune blazed in his palm, and a doorway of light formed beside them. 

"Go, now. Run!" he shouted, and all eight of the civilians went. Those that were healthy helped the ones who were limping, and they disappeared into the light. 

"Your turn," Bruce said, turning to Clark. "You've got to get up. C'mon. This time, the mountain has to come to Muhammad."

 _"I'm going to make you pay for every joke like that, you know,"_ Clark wheezed. He gripped the earth with his talons and pulled himself off his broken wing. 

"Move," Bruce barked, gritting his teeth against Clark's agony. "We don't know how much longer we have. Get to your feet!"

_"You first. Be... right behind you."_

"No," he snarled. "I'm only going through when you do. If you don't want to strand us both here for the rest of our days, get up!" 

With a scream of pain Clark heaved himself up, shaking and swaying on his feet. Bruce ached to support him, and actually leaned against him, as if that could possibly help.

"Don't leave me here, Clark. Walk with me."

_"You flew with me. Least... least I can do."_

Clark took a step, then another, then the momentum had him barreling forward. Bruce swung up his shoulder to grab him around the neck, and they were falling through the portal.

It was nothing and everything like the first time. Bruce still clung to Clark as though his entire existence depended on it. The energies slid between their bodies, dispersing their forms and scattering them through a river of pure light. Bruce thought about screaming, but decided he was getting too used to being remade and just held on, instead.

He landed with a thump on his back, surrounded by a glittering red mist. "Clark? Clark!"

 _"I'm here."_ Clark's laughter shivered in his mind. The mist coalesced, solidified, then curled up in his arms.

"Rao. It's good to be back."

Bruce buried his face in Clark's hair and wrapped his arms around his waist. "I missed the sound of your voice." And maybe if he held on tightly enough, he'd never have to actually look Clark in the eyes after spouting all this ridiculous, sappy nonsense. He gripped Clark harder.

"Hey, Bat-dude. You've got a naked man lying on you." Bruce cracked an eye open to stare balefully at the civilian. They were in a park. Gotham Central, by the looks of it. Lots of places to bury a body.

"You're not allowed to beat them up," Clark said, levering himself to his knees. "I've still got to get them back to Metropolis."

"Oh my god, the dragon was Superman. Pete, it's Superman!"

"It's naked Superman," the other woman said, staring. And that was about all Bruce could take. He rolled to his feet and planted himself directly between Clark and the civilians. Bad enough that they actually flew with him, but this was not for their eyes. If Bruce had his way, no one besides himself was ever going to see this much of Clark's skin, ever again. He growled and crossed his arms, wondering if sending them by bus was still on the table. 

"Ah, Batman?" Clark, still on his knees, wrapped an arm around Bruce's middle and leaned around his hip. "I think the cavalry just arrived."

Bruce looked over his shoulder to see Dr Fate and Zatanna smirking at them. "We sensed the portal open, and thought to make sure you were alright." Zatanna smiled a little bigger as she took in Clark's naked backside. "Seems like you've got things in hand, though."

"Do you mind?" Bruce seethed. "Take them," he gestured at the civilians, "and get them medical attention."

Fate very considerately conjured a blanket from nothing, and handed it to Clark. Clark blushed, a distracting, pinkish flush that traveled all the way down his chest, and stood up to wrap the blanket around his hips. 

"Of course," Zatanna smirked. "Follow me, folks. Let's get you home."

"Bye, Superman," one of the women called. Clark smiled a sheepish grin and blushed harder, holding the blanket together with both hands. Fate and Zatanna linked hands and in a flash of light, it was just the two of them.

Clark was sill looking down and fussing with that damn blanket. His muscles rippled under his smooth, perfectly flushed skin. Bruce wanted to take his gloves off and touch, run his hands all over Clark's inhumanly warm body, but he was suddenly unsure of his welcome. The past week could have been an aberration. Bruce frowned, trying to imagine a Clark that looked like this allowing him the same intimacies. He couldn't.

"So," Bruce cleared his throat. He half-turned away from Clark, rounding his shoulder defensively. "How's the, erm," he waved vaguely at Clark's back. Clark's smile deepened into real humor, and Bruce frowned. "Look, are you still in pain from breaking your wing, or not? It's a simple question, and mmph-"

Suddenly, he had an armful of muscular, naked Clark, who was finally kissing him to within an inch of his life. Thank God. He closed his eyes and softened his mouth, letting Clark explore. Clark's mouth was warm and wet, and he tasted like Bruce had always imagined. Bruce teased the tip of his tongue against Clark's, loving the sounds he made, and pushed their hips together for more.

Clark pulled back, and Bruce growled and chased his mouth. He bit Clark's lower lip, a sharp shiver of pleasure, and threaded his fist into Clark's hair. He hadn't waited all this time for Clark to play the shy-flower routine now. He didn't want to stop until he had Clark spread out under him, grasping and needy. He pulled harder on Clark's hair, raking his nails down his gloriously naked back, loving the shudder that ran through him.

"Bruce," Clark gasped, returning again and again to his mouth. "Want you so much." His inhumanly strong hands squeezed Bruce's ass, lifting and rubbing Bruce against him. 

"Yes," Bruce muttered, half-drunk and out of his mind. "Get us home. I want to ride you and make you beg for it." He tilted his hips, feeling the blunt pressure of Clark's dick nudge up against him through his clothes. "I need to be naked. Right now." 

Clark growled and lifted them both in the air, still licking and biting at Bruce's mouth. "Gonna make you take it, make you love it," Clark promised. He slid a finger down the outside of Bruce's pants, and pressed. Bruce groaned, the pressure so good. He bit down hard on Clark's neck, thrusting down against that maddening point of pleasure.

"Get us home soon," he warned. He reclaimed Clark's mouth, hoping vaguely that they were flying in the right direction.

 _"Thought you wanted everyone to see,"_ Clark teased, never breaking the kiss. Bruce shivered, his whole body lighting up. 

"Do that again," he gasped, breaking away.

"What, this?" Clark asked, pressing two firm points of pleasure, now, against him.

"No, but god, don't stop that, either." They'd better be almost at the manor, because he was close to coming in his pants. He wanted to be naked, skin to skin with Clark, smearing his come on Clark's perfect body, making him shiver and beg for it.

 _"Not going to stop,"_ Clark promised, his mouth fused to Bruce's. _"Never gonna stop. I'll do this to you forever. I'll make you feel so good, Bruce, you feel so good. I need you, need this-"_

"Yes, that," Bruce gasped, arching against him. "Clark, you're talking, I can hear you-"

Bruce's back hit something soft. He turned his head to find he was in his room, flat on his bed. Clark took advantage of his exposed neck and bit down hard, making him shout in pleasure. "Yes, harder!"

He felt Clark ripping his uniform off. "Boots, get my boots."

"Fuck the boots," Clark growled. Bruce laughed and wrapped himself around him, loving that Clark was this crazy for it. For him.

"I've got lube in the drawer," he murmured, breathing into Clark's sensitive, flushed ear. "Slick me up. Make me take all of it."

Clark bowed his head and moaned, mouthing at Bruce's chest. Bruce grinned and slid his hand under a pillow. "Never mind, found it." He popped the top with one hand, slicking up his fingers and sliding them down to his ass. "Watch me," he urged, rimming his hole with his fingertips. "I want you, just like this."

He pushed two fingers in, biting his lip and loving the burn. It was going to be so good, having Clark's huge length in him. He shoved down on his fingers, already wanting more. 

Clark was watching his hand, his lips parted, his eyes huge and dark with lust. Then he slid Bruce a sly look through his lashes, and picked up his other hand. Bruce had just enough time to understand, before Clark closed his swollen lips around Bruce's over-sensitized fingers.

"Clark!" Bruce shouted, drowning in wet, wet heat. Clark's tongue flickered between his fingers, sucked along the length of them, his teeth drawing sparks of heat from the tips. "God, stop, it's too much, I can't," he gasped, riding his own fingers in his ass, heat and wet and pleasure pooling in his hips and making his cock feel like it was going to burst. 

_"Gonna make you come just like this,"_ Clark growled in his mind, his voice dark and throbbing. Bruce arched under him, trapped between two points of wet, slick heat. He panted and opened his mind to Clark, pulling him in and under with him.

"Not... not alone," he managed, fucking himself faster, writhing with Clark's mouth around his fingers. He watched Clark's eyes open wide, felt the shock in his mind as Clark finally caught on. He twisted his fingers in his ass, riding the burn as Clark moaned, flexing and pushing his own ass in the air.

"God, so close, you're gorgeous like this, gonna come, gonna make you feel it when I do." He was babbling, words spilling from his mouth as Clark groaned and tongued his fingers. It was coming, almost here, and Clark finally, God finally, fisted Bruce's cock, pumping it once, twice.

Bruce's whole body spasmed, rigid and immobile with pleasure. He thought he screamed. He knew Clark did, felt it reverberate in his body. He felt Clark's hot come stripe his stomach and he groaned, loving the feel of it. 

Clark shuddered and collapsed on the bed, half on top of him. Bruce realized he didn't mind, and turned his face to bury his lips in Clark's hair. "I wanted you in me," he whispered, gathering Clark closer.

"Speaking of that," Clark mumbled. He turned his face so he was nose to nose with Bruce. "Seems Esmir forgot something with that second transformation spell."

"Left it out," Bruce muttered. He yawned and wondered if Clark's stamina would preclude a nap.

"That's what I said," Clark agreed, closing his eyes.

"No, you said 'forgot'." Bruce sighed. He should probably let it go, but- "I was in... sort of rough shape when you were gone. I think she saw that, and..." he trailed his fingers along Clark's shoulder. "You're not really going to make me say it, are you?"

Clark smiled at him, lazy and sated and utterly gorgeous. He captured Bruce's lip in a slow, sweet kiss, and Bruce luxuriated in the feel of him. _"You don't have to say anything,"_ Clark murmured. _"I'll still hear you."_

Bruce smiled into the kiss and rolled them over, pinning Clark to the mattress. "We've been off-world, fighting zombie hoards and tracking missing people for over a week. I, for one, could use some sleep." He threaded his fingers through Clark's hands, staring intently at them. "I'd like it, that is..." he frowned and glanced at Clark.

"I'll still be here," Clark finished for him. 

Unnoticed by either, Alfred eased the bedroom door shut. After a week away there were a hundred things that required Master Bruce's attention, and the list just kept getting longer. Everything from social functions, to Wayne Enterprise business, to his... night job.

However, Alfred understood the unique position he occupied in this household, and used his discretionary powers to the fullest. It may be Batman's job to protect Gotham, but it was Alfred's job to make that possible. In short, there were times when Master Bruce needed to be taken care of, and Alfred knew, from long experience, that what he didn't know would rarely hurt him.

He opened his laptop and accessed Wayne Enterprise's mainframe through a backdoor that he'd programmed, himself. He quickly rearranged board meetings, delegated tasks, and sent three fruit baskets to expectant mothers.

Scrolling through the society page with one hand, he picked up the phone with the other and dialed one of hundreds of numbers that he knew by heart. 

"Diana? Yes, hello. Indeed, as always, a pleasure to speak with you. No, no, they've returned, thank goodness, but I'm afraid I'll have to impose on you for another day. No, Robin and Nightwing will see to Gotham again, but Metropolis could still use an extra set of eyes."

Alfred smiled gently and cast a look up the stairway. "No, I don't know the particulars. Perhaps he sat on him, to get his attention. Of course, I'll keep you in the loop. Give my best to your mother."

He hung up and went to the kitchen. There was food enough for an army, but he wasn't sure what Master Clark might prefer. Food might not be the way to the man's heart, but it certainly couldn't hurt. Master Bruce was an extraordinary man, but he could also be a handful, after all. Perhaps a few of Master Clark's favorite dishes might help him feel more at home, even entice him to the manor more often? He picked up the kitchen phone and dialed another number by heart.

"Mrs. Kent? Why yes, thank you, the recipe was delicious. Yes, all three of the boys have asked for it again. Say, I have the pleasure of having your son for dinner, tonight, and was hoping you could give me a few tips..."

 

\--fin


End file.
